


Lance’s Funeral

by RachelleFaucet



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Supernatural Elements, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 12:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 62,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelleFaucet/pseuds/RachelleFaucet
Summary: A Klance au in which Keith discovers that him and only him can see Lance's ghost.***Keith hated himself for liking Lance.His limber build, the way he carried himself with shoulders raised and chin held high. His blue eyes, dark like the sea's deep, inky bottom. His tangled mess of dark brown hair that stood at odd angles, and never seemed to obey Lance's vigorous brushing. His smooth, light brown skin as he crinkled his nose, or batted the sand from his eyes on a particularly windy afternoon. Even his laugh, as loudly obnoxious as it was, Keith adored. And that was the worst part, because, unlike Keith, Lance hated him.





	1. Vol. 1

I hate everything about you.  
Why do I love you?  
You hate everything about me.  
Why do you love me?

~Three Days Grace / I Hate Everything About You

***

Keith hated himself for liking Lance.

His limber build, the way he carried himself with shoulders raised and chin held high. His blue eyes, dark like the sea's deep, inky bottom. His tangled mess of dark brown hair that stood at odd angles, and never seemed to obey Lance's vigorous brushing. His smooth, light brown skin as he crinkled his nose, or batted the sand from his eyes on a particularly windy afternoon. Even his laugh, as loudly obnoxious as it was, Keith adored. And that was the worst part, because, unlike Keith, Lance hated him.

With every word he uttered, an argument seemed to arise. Lance constantly joked and poked fun at Keith, determined to one up him in every way imaginable. So, in all retrospect, Keith had every right to detest Lance in return. But that was the thing: he didn't. Even as Lance stood before him on the worst days - face scrunched and reddened, throat hoarse from the shouting - all Keith thought as he stood stone faced, eyes locked on Lance's chattering lips, was: wow, I really want to kiss this shit-head. And then he was both mad at himself and the world. Mad at himself for imagining Lance in ways he shouldn't, and mad at the world for allowing Lance to be in his life in the first place.

It was torture. As powerful as a lash to the chest, or a hammer to the kneecap. Especially now, as Keith stood above Lance's cold, unflinching corpse. The dead boy's bony hands crossed over his chest, shoulders squared atop the white, velvet cushion that rested inside the opened coffin. He wore the best suit and tie money could buy, and had his shaven scalp hidden by a head of hair that was similar, but could never match the boy's old image. The image before cancer. The image before hell. The image before Keith's every being crumbled to dust.

The funeral was soon. Keith knew he needed to get changed. But he couldn't. Though he knew it was Lance's last wish, he couldn't bare to go along with the charade. Three weeks before his death, Lance wrote a to-do list. More specifically, he wrote a funeral to-do list. One hundred and forty nine rules total, all typed and printed neatly onto a handout each guest revived along with their individual outfit requirements. But, when Keith read it for the first time after Lance's death expecting to weep, he was surprisingly greeted by a sense of confusion, then annoyance, than anger. Keith's costume requirement: dick costume. Damn Lance. Even in death, Lance still found a way of belittling him. Then he thought of Lance's malicious smirk, and was immediately hit with another wave of dread.

He could still remember the oh so dolorous trip to Party City merely a week ago. He stood in the back aisle, surrounded by a cluster of shopping customers - most of which kids - as he begged the store manager for them to somehow magically poof a dick costume into existence. "Please!" Keith pleaded, perhaps a bit too loudly. "You had them in October. I don't understand why you don't have them now."

"Like I said before sir," The manager sighed, middle-aged face slack and unshaven. "We don't offer the penis costume in December. We only have it for the Halloween holiday. If you want a Santa or reindeer suit however, we've got it covered."

"Can't you check the back or something? I really need this penis. Like, really do." Keith's face was tomato red with embarrassment. Words passed in aggravated bursts through his clenched teeth. Everyone was staring at him now, kids giggling to one another, and mothers attempting to cover their children's ears.

"I'm sorry, sir." The dude repeated for what felt like the millionth time. "But we can't-"

"My friend is fricking dead because of cancer, and wanted me to attend his funeral dressed as a giant dick. Can you not make an acceptation?"

The saggy faced manager opened his mouth and inhaled as though he was going to say something, then closed it into a thin line, bushy brows scrunched in contemplation. He looked both sympathetic, annoyed, and confused all at once. Finally, with one last exasperated sigh, he mumbled, "I'll check the other stores."

In short: Keith was forced to travel five uncomfortable hours on a train to get his dick costume, and five extremely uncomfortable hours back, unsuccessfully attempting to hide the Party City purchase in his lap.

In the present, Keith stepped from Lance's coffin, allowing the brown skinned boy to vanish from his line of sight. His insides crawled, and, if only for a second, Keith felt just as dead as Lance looked. He wasn't even supposed to be in here, but Keith needed a few seconds of real mourning before the chaotic circus known as Lance's funeral began. Because, though he was still mad at Lance for putting him through this whole ordeal, Keith wanted to see him. He wanted to reach out and touch Lance. To feel Lance's skin on his own as it was before, soft and warm. Not cold, as it felt currently.

Keith remembered observing Lance before he passed. He always payed extra attention to his long, bony fingers as they wrapped around the steering wheel of his old, crap BMW. The way they tapped against the leather, dancing along to a tune only audible inside Lance's mind. Then Keith's gaze would move up Lance's arm, and land on the curvature of his jaw. He had narrow features. Sharp and boyish. Keith especially liked the way his lips mouthed along to the unheard song in his head. In his dreams, Keith imagined those same lips pressed against his ear, whispering silent nothings while his long fingers tapped against Keith's shoulder, and slowly, gently, ran across Keith's bare skin.

Sometimes, if Keith looked long enough, he could catch the tune Lance was mouthing, and silently sing along. Other times, Lance caught him staring, and twisted his head with a frown. "What are you looking at?" He would ask.

"Your pores." Keith would respond dumbly.

"What? Are you jealous of my face? It's not my fault you don't moisturize."

Then the conversation would end with a single one-worded remark such as: "Whatever." followed by a head turn and eye roll. Keith would look out the window, face red, and ears burning. Pores? What the fuck was he thinking?

In the present-day, Keith turned on the balls of his feet, his hands shoved in his pockets, and shoulders slumped. He had the itch to grab his earbuds, but remembered he left them back at his house. Rule 3: No electronic distractions.

It had taken Keith's entire willpower to go without his music, and he almost defied the rule before Shiro cut in, reminding him of the very first, most crucial rule: All guests must follow ALL the rules! No exceptions!

But, of course Keith knew this. I mean, who in their right mind could forget the very next rule? Rule 2: Each guest must memorize, and know this list by heart before the funeral. Well enough to recite it in sleep.

Keith exited through the cluttered wing of the stage. Though he normally would have found it odd to have a funeral in a theatre, it wasn't nearly the weirdest thing Lance had wished for. Could be worse. At least a theatre had seats. Keith was honestly surprised he didn't chose a location such as the side of a mountain, or Chucky Cheese.

When Keith got through backstage to the hall that led to the main entrance, he saw Pidge. Her hair was a matted mess, and gray costume scruffy with the hot-glued feathers. She propped a plaster mask between her right arm and hip, and wore two three pointed shoes that defied all laws of physic. When her gaze met the sluggish Keith, she narrowed her eyes, and thinned her lips disapprovingly. "Keith!" She exclaimed, squinting her eyes even further, due to her lack of glasses. "Why aren't you dressed? The guests are already arriving!"

Keith averted his eyes, hand twitching uncertainly in his pocket without the cold surface of his phone to feel. God, was this how old people felt before handhelds? How did they even live? "Yeah, yeah. I'm going now." He rolled his eyes.

Pidge gave him one last look before shoving her pigeon mask over her head, and wobbling away. She nearly fell over due to both the atrocious shoes, and her sore lack of vision. At least my costume doesn't have a mask, Keith thought, then remembered that it wasn't a good thing. Pidge could hide her face. Keith couldn't.

Keith walked a few more steps, and finally stopped when he arrived at the door labeled only by a small image of some stick figure dude. Some days, Keith wished he could take the stick figure dude's place. He went into the bathroom, and opened the cabinet under the sink. He spotted the stashed, full body suit, crumbled and hidden from sight. With a sigh, he unfolded the material, and glared at the horrid, pink beast. The maker somehow thought it funny to add little, completely necessary details to it, such as veins. So, not only was Keith meant to wear a dick costume, but a giant, pink, throbbing one. Damn Lance. That shit head.

Looking to one end of the bathroom to the other, Keith made sure he was alone before hastily slipping the costume over his clothes. Immediately, he felt as though he wanted to die. Granted, he wanted to die about 99% of the time. To join Lance in the bottom most part of hell, where he could finally get his revenge by strangling that stupid, beautiful boy's neck. Keith didn't know if it was possible to kill someone in hell, but he was going to try anyways.

Keith looked in the mirror, and got a glimpse of his sunken expression. With his long, dark hair, under-eye baggage, and five o'clock shadow, he looked like the type of dude mothers warn their children about. But his costume told a different story. One of an escaped insane asylum patient. Either way, he was sure no logical thinking mortal was going to get anywhere close to him, let alone walk on the same side of the street as him. Once again: damn Lance, that shit head.

Keith, face almost as red as his costume, left the bathroom. As he did, he caught glimpse of Shiro maneuvering past. His two toned head of hair was covered in a chef hat, nearly as tall as Shiro himself. He was nearly naked beside the ruffly, pink apron draped across his muscular chest reading: cereal chef, and tight, tight, tight, underwear. Lance was extra specific about his costume, and Keith suddenly found himself thankful that at least he didn't have to walk around freezing his balls off. "Oh, Keith." Shiro turned, eyeing Keith's attire. He didn't laugh, which Keith appreciated. Besides, there wouldn't be a point in doing so since he looked just as ridiculous. "Almost everyone's here. We're only waiting for the cousins."

"Which cousins?"

"Uh... The Valdez, I believe."

"Never heard of them."

Shiro shrugged, and turned. "Lance has a big family." And with that, Shiro walked back down the hall to where the guests were gathered.

Keith was not looking forward to meeting Lance's family. Not only his parents, and his multiple siblings, but his seemingly endless amount of aunts, uncles, cousins, half cousins, and so on. Keith, who grew up basically by himself, could never imagine what Lance's life might have been like. A house full of constant activity and rowdy kids. It was great deviation from Keith's loner lifestyle.

When Keith turned the corner, he was immediately overwhelmed. People of a multitude of different ages, colors, and sizes stood shoulder to shoulder, all with outrageous costumes, and lips tugged down in a frown. It was like a really bad Halloween party, but with a bunch of depressed people, and with a sore lack of girls in tighter than life, bust and bottom revealing suits. Keith, even in his throbbing dick costume, fit right in.

He spotted his friends in the corner, checking and double checking their lists, along with about a hundred other people Keith didn't recognize. He only had the chance to behold Lance's mom in a photo once before, and had no recognition of her other than her face shape. Round and chubby like a beanbag. Keith wasn't even sure he wanted to meet her, as it would remind him of just how much Lance loved his mother. Before, when he was gushing over Mrs. McClain, Lance would grandstand, bragging endlessly of her hard work and caring.

"Attention, attention, all guests." A voice came over a loudspeaker, and Keith recognized it as Allura, one of Lance's old friends and crushes. "The theatre is ready. Please take your places for the show."

Show? Keith thought. That's a morbid way of defining whatever the hell this is.

The people immediately stopped their chatter, and turned toward the two double door entrance ways. They began packing into the doors, bumping and squishing up next to one another on the way. Keith waited until everyone else went in before going himself. Skin to skin with strangers wasn't the pleasantest of thoughts.

Keith sat down awkwardly in his suit. He took a seat in the back row, alone, in a dark corner where he could remain unseen. He remembered the eighth rule: all guests must get as close to the stage as possible, but he didn't care. This was all so stupid. He wanted to just leave, but remembered the seventh rule: no guests will leave while the funeral is taking place. The fifteen minute bathroom break will be in the middle, after the magic show. Why did Lance have to make the list so specific?

The theatre which he sat was a small one. It had one stage on the far wall thrusting out into the audience, with red, velvet chairs on either side. The kids sat in the front, their heads craned up as their parents watched in the seats just behind. On the stage rested a microphone, stool, drum set, amps, electric guitar, and a bass. The red curtain which covered the portion of the stage that held Lance's casket was drawn. That was probably for the best, Keith thought. It would be even harder getting through this thing whilst seeing Lance's cold, limp body. Still, just knowing it was there sent a shiver down Keith's spine.

Coran, Lance's favorite college professor, ran onto the stage. He went to the mic stand, and leaned in to speak. Out of everyone, Lance gave him the biggest role to perform. Though he didn't know Coran very well, reading his requirements, he couldn't help but sympathize. Especially with the song he had to sing to start the thing off.

Coran, dressed in a white priest uniform, with a large black cross on his hat, and robes draped to his feet, spoke. "Alright, alright, alright, alright." He began in his best impression of an announcer, orange mustache shifting with each airy syllable. "Who is ready?"

"We are!" Everyone but Keith screamed at the top of their lungs, going back to rule eleven: when asked a question, all guests must respond as loud, and enthusiastically as humanly possible. Doesn't matter what sort of question it is.

"I can't heeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrr yooooooooouuuuuuu." Coran sang, raising a hand to his ear.

"WE'RE READY!" They shouted louder than before, straining their vocal cords, and shaking the walls and roof that surrounded them. Keith cringed, sinking back into his costume.

"Then let's gooooo!" He called, grabbing the mic from it's stand.

Suddenly, and band of headband wearing men in leotards came running on stage. Some sported grease filled, slicked back hair, and others wore mullets (and not the ok kind, like Keith's). Each one got to their designated instruments, and waited for the signal. Coran, who was front and center, stripped off his priest robes and large hat, revealing the yellow tank top, blue jeans, and red, furry wristband just above his right wrist. Keith felt the idiocy suffocating him.

The drums cued in the bass, beginning the song. The guitar stepped in next, and they all played silently, waiting for the beat to pick up. A few seconds later, and Coran brought his mic close to his mouth and sung, "Steve walks warily down the street, with the brim pulled way down low. Ain't no sound but the sound of his feet, machine guns ready to go."

Unexpectedly, Coran was actually a good singer. A bit rusty, sure, but passable. Like, a good while ago he was in a band, but quit later on, and never really practiced since. Keith imagined Coran, rock band at his side, and terrible fashion with bright, clashing colors, rocking out with a giant, red poof he called a hairstyle. The image was quite scary actually.

"Are you ready? Are you ready for this? Are you hanging on the edge of your seat?"

"YES!" Everyone shrieked the answer. Apparently rule eleven applied to lyrics as well.

"Out of the doorway the bullets rip to the sound of the beat!" Coran continued, his shoulders rolling, and hips swaying as he paced up and down the stage. Kids were jumping from their seats, shimmying to the beat, and reaching out, attempting to touch the performer.

"Another one bites the dust. Another one bites the dust." Coran began the ironically cruel chorus, his arms creating circles as he moved, and music picking up to a upbeat rhythm. Keith was never going to hear this song the same way again, and he could wholeheartedly say that for the others in the theatre as well. Only the young children seemed to be enjoying the show, their brains not developed enough to compromise the situation. "And another one gone, and another one gone. Another one bites the dust!"

A smoke machine hidden in the left wing roared to life. It filled the stage with a blanket of white fog which seeped into the audience. A few kids screamed and laughed as they attempted to catch the visible gas in their hands. Lights of all different colors shot across the room, illuminating the performers and their instruments. Their already crazy attire was made more ridiculous with the extra layer of clashing colors.

Wow, this was stupid so stupid, Keith couldn't help but roll his eyes. Watching Coran dance around the stage like an orangutan, while a band of elderly, skittle colored fuckers played a song about biting the dust at a twenty one year old's funeral, was pretty dang overwhelming. Not to mention Keith's dick costume, which he was still embarrassed about.

Not even a minute later, the song stopped abruptly at the word, beat. The lights flicked off, and fog machine rumbled to a halt. Oh, yes, can't forget the very crucial eighteenth rule: every song must last only one minute and thirty seconds, no more, no less. That was going to drive Keith crazy later on, he just knew it.

Coran stopped his eccentric strut, and turned to the mic stand and stool. Sitting down, he brought the mic close to his bushy mustache, and spoke in a monotoned, British accent, "Before we continue with the show, there is a few things I would like to say."

Coran reached into his jean pockets, and pulled out a stack of assorted, white flash cards. On them, Keith saw scribbled sharpie written messily across the blue lined surface. There was no debate about it: that was defiantly Lance's outrageous, practically unreadable handwriting. Coran placed the mic in its stand. With a cough to clear his throat, Coran squinted, and focused on the colorful words. "Why does Waldo always wear stripes?" He asked, crossing his right leg over his left, and letting his eyes scan the audience. Keith slid down in his chair, hoping Coran wouldn't notice him. As the fourth rule clearly stated: when a fellow guest does not following suit with one or more of the rules, the others must point to them, and boo until they fix themselves. Keith already had enough people trying to fix him, he didn't need them to start booing because of it.

The guest's answers varied, but were all just as loud and obnoxiously upbeat as before. Once they settled, Coran continued. "Because he doesn't want to be spotted!"

Everyone turned to their right, and punched the person next to them violently on the arm. Rule 20: after each punchline, punch the person to your right. How hilarious. Keith wished he was seated beside Lance's caskets, so he would have an excuse to punch him. Maybe if he hit hard enough, Lance would be able to feel it from down under. If there even was a down under, that is.

"What do you call a bear with no teeth?" Coran asked, shuffling the last zinger to the bottom of his deck.

Another wave of in incomprehensible yelps.

"Gummy bear."

Once again, the extravagantly dressed people turned, and punched their shoulder partners with - in Keith's opinion - too much unnecessary force. Keith was thankful no one sat by him. He wasn't even sure he could land a good punch in his attire, which greatly restrained most arm and leg movement. Even his neck and head was affected. He could only face straight to see through the dick's head hole. If Keith attempted to turn to his right or left, he would only get lost in the costume.

A snort came from Keith's right, followed by a loud, obnoxious chain of laughter.

Keith gasped. His heart dropped to the floor, and throat went dry. Unable to turn properly, he had to shift his position in his chair to look in the direction of the voice. His limbs trembled, and mind spun violently. He could have sworn he heard Lance, but that couldn't be true... right? Maybe it was just one of Lance's many siblings that sounded like him? Keith didn't remember anyone sitting near him, but maybe some kid sneaked away from the crowd to join him without his knowing. Still... the laugh put an unsettling scare in Keith's stomach.

When Keith finally managed to turn, he was greeted by nothing. Absolutely nothing, but empty seats, and darkness. Must have been his imagination. Yes, that's what it was. Imagination, had to be.

Keith, his heart pounding hard against his chest, turned forward. Coran was still on stage going through each flash card, smacking the audience with zingers left and right that would make even the puniest of Dads cringe. But Keith couldn't seem to focus on anything else. His brain was racing, and body sweating, though he felt an odd chill in the air. It was as if... he was being watched.

"Why did the baker need to go to work everyday?" Coran's voice sounded hollow and distant. Like muffles passing through a thin wall, or a tv with its volume turned down low. "Because he kneaded the dough!"

This time, Keith heard a snort come from his left, and an even louder series of chuckles. A high pitched squeak following a deep inhale. Identical to Lance's laugh. It was uncanny.

Faster this time, Keith maneuvered his body around to his left. When his vision adjusted, he let out a pathetic squeal, his jaw nearly falling to the floor, and eyes bugging from his head. Thinking he wasn't seeing things right, Keith closed his eyes, and vigorously rubbed his hands over his eyelids. When he first opened them again, the image seemed to have vanished, but when he looked harder, he realized it was still there.

A semi transparent mass, which radiated a faint, white glow around a body of washed out colors. It took on the shape of a human; long and lanky, the outline of a sharp jaw, and bony fingers. His colors, which were hard to really decipher, seemed to shift with each passing second. At some points, Keith could see the figure's brown skin as clear as a human's, and other times, he seemed completely transparent. His hair was messy, with strands sticking out at weird angles. He wore a baggy, army green jacket, as well as blue jeans, and a gray shirt with blue sleeves. Lance's favorite outfit.

At first, Keith was thinking: this can't be Lance. That's impossible. But when he looked closer, there was no denying it. This floating, snorting, see-through figure was Lance. Loudly - perhaps a bit too loudly - Keith yelled, "WHAT THE FU-"

He paused. Everyone, including Coran, who looked up from his deck of cards, and the audience, who ceased their attention from the show, turned to him. They were silent for a brief second, unsure if Keith's sudden outburst was included on the list, or if he was simply just insane. Even the ghostly figure of Lance raised a brow. He distastefully scrunching his nose. Keith knew that expression all too well. With a click of his fading in and out tongue, Lance asked, "What's your problem? Breaking the rules, and blurting out for no apparent reason?"

Keith stared up at him in horror. Much like Lance, all his color was drained. "I - I uh..." He stuttered, not daring to break away from Lance's prying eyes.

After a second of confusion, Lance widened his eyes. His mouth made a circle shape, as he pointed to his own chest in disbelief. "What the fuck? Wait. You can see me?"

From the crowd down below, one of Lance's many family members was the first to speak. "Boooooo!" A young girl, who couldn't have be more than five or so, pointed her thumb down, and called out with disapproval.

Everyone else, a bit begrudgingly, joined in. The theatre filled with sounds of boos, but Keith was more focused on the floating thing, which took on the image of Lance, next to him, sporting the same, equally as baffled expression as himself.

"You can see me?" Lance repeated, shifting his body - if you could even call it that - closer to Keith. His legs dangled behind him, barely touching the seat below. Lance hovered his head over Keith's, so that the ladder had to crane his neck up slightly to look him in the eyes.

Keith drew back, his hands grasping the end of his chair's hand rests. In a whisper, he exclaimed, "Fuck this. I'm hallucinating."

Not bothering to give the statement an affirmative yes or no, Lance reached his hand out, and slid it through one of Keith's cheek to the other. The sensation was odd. Of course, why wouldn't it? Keith generally liked having other people inside of him, but this was taking it to a new extreme. It felt cold, and spine chilling. "Whoa!" Lance gleamed. "This is insane!"

Keith had to agree with that sentiment. This was defiantly insane. It was basically anything but normal, and Keith was kinda freaking out. No, scratch that, Keith was 100% freaked the fuck out.

Coran's voice cut through on the mic. "Come on, Keith. You have to move eventually. We have to get on with the show!"

"Uh, gah..." Keith stuttered, suddenly remembering the horde of booing family members and friends. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"But it's not break yet!"

"It's an emergency." Keith grumbled through clenched teeth.

Without waiting for a response, Keith stood from his seat, and paced hurriedly towards the exit. Lance followed, all the while staying silent.

***

Tell me all that you've thrown away  
Find out games you don't wanna play  
You are the only one that needs to know  
I'll keep you my dirty little secret  
Don't tell anyone, or you'll be just another regret  
My dirty little secret

~All American Rejects / Dirty Little Secret

***

It was years ago when Keith first came out.

It had been terrifying to reveal his innermost held secret - as it always was for the majority of youths in the southernmost parts of Texas - but here's the thing: Keith hadn't anticipated on coming out in the first place. It was more of an... accident during a particularly heated discussion with the pre-cancer Lance. Now, if he thought back to it, Keith couldn't remember what the argument had been about, or how it had started. Something like this: Keith says something that Lance doesn't agree with, then Lance calls him out for it, and then they continued fighting until, a: someone cuts in, b: Keith lets Lance win, or c: they both get so upset, they don't talk with each other for another week or more.

But then they would come back. Why? Because that's what they always did. When a person has been friends with someone for as long as Keith and Lance, there's this sort of inseparable bond that always connects the pair, no matter the unfavorable circumstances. Because, beyond all rhyme or reason, that's what they were. Friends. One couldn't have Lance without Keith, or vice versa. Through thick and thin, ups and downs, ins and outs, the two managed to stay together, and that was a true miracle.

Keith remembered Lance saying something such as: "Oh yeah? If you're so great, then how come you never have a girlfriend?"

Keith didn't follow that up with a response.

"What? You, like, scared of naked women or something? Don't know how to process around them?"

A few more lines were thrown back and forth that Keith honestly couldn't remember. In short, the discussion got increasingly heated, and Keith, not thinking straight (literally and figuratively), was finally compelled to blurt out, "Lance, I don't even fucking like girls, ok. I like boys! I'm fucking gay, are you happy? I like dicks, you got a problem with that?"

No more than a millisecond after he said that, Keith felt his stomach contract uneasily. Never before had he said those lines, and never before did anyone know his secret. Keith wished he could die of embarrassment, dragging Lance down with him. He could almost hear the laughs and looks of the other kids once the word inevitably circulated. And, in a tiny school such as this, the task of gossip took no time at all.

When Keith did look up at Lance's expression, he was more than a little surprised. Instead of a maniacal grin, or outlandish laughter, Lance's face was slack, and eyes bugged. And was that... red running across his cheeks? Keith thought as though he was going insane. Why in the world would Lance be blushing? It went against all his presumed knowledge of the known universe.

"You... um... oh..." Lance stuttered, averting his eyes. All yelling seemed to have ceased.

"Look, Lance." Keith rubbed the back of his neck, his ears heated. "Just... Ignore that last part, ok. I know you're going to make fun of me, but please. I, well... haven't told anyone else, and stuff, so..."

Keith honestly wasn't sure what Lance's answer would be. Something unfavorable most likely, as all Lance's actions seemed to be. But what he said next killed Keith. Not because it was mean, or whatever, but because it was so... unLanceish. He said, "I won't tell. And I'm... glad you had enough courage to tell me, and crap."

Ok, first of all, Keith didn't actually own that courage Lance spoke of. Again, coming out was just a mistake. But, honestly, in the long run, Keith was glad he did.

***

When Keith and Lance were alone in the theatre's hall, Keith took Lance's wrist.

He dragged Lance all the way down the hall and into the bathroom. The entire time, Lance kept his legs up behind him, never once touching the ground. He was like a balloon. An odd shaped, really heavy balloon. Keith slammed the door behind him, locking it for extra measures. He took a deep breath, before turning, and saying, "Ok, what the fuck?"

"Yeah, exactly." Lance huffed. "You're breaking like, all the rules. Do you even care?"

"That's not the concern here!" Keith dragged his hands through his long, jet black hair. His mind was reeling. "W-when the hell did... this happen?"

"Uh, this?"

"This! The whole fucking... ghost thing! Like, what the hell is even - what is even - I'm kinda freaking out here, man!"

"Hey, I'm just as weirded out as you are. Imagine waking up, and finding out you are a ghost. It kinda screwed me up, but that's no excuse to disobey my rules. I was very clear on them."

"Again, not the concern! How long has - how long have you been like this?"

Lance paused, looked Keith up and down, then began to giggle. He quickly hid his mouth behind his fist, but Keith saw a few laughter tears form in concentrated drops below his eyes.

With a scowl, Keith asked, "What's so funny?"

Lance burst out into his annoyingly amazing cackle. Clutching his chest, his shoulders heaving up and down with each breath. "I'm sorry. It's just, I can't take you seriously in that outfit. Like, holy shit! This is too good."

Keith narrowed his eyes, looking down at his costume. Oh yeah, the whole 'best friend is a ghost' scare made him completely forget about the giant penis that he was currently sporting. Keith swiftly took off his costume, and tossed it aside. He was officially done with this entire charade.

"Hey! You're not allowed to change either! Did you even read the instructions?"

"When did this happen?" Keith repeated, ignoring Lance's bickering. "When did you become a... whatever you are."

"A ghost? I don't know. When did I die?"

"You don't know when you died?"

"Not exactly... I kinda just woke up one day, and I found myself in this... meat locker. But then I discovered I could phase through the walls, so that was cool. Plus flying. It was pretty sweet, until I found out the dead part. I tried like, haunting people and junk to get people's attention, but it didn't work... I'm still working out all my new ghost mechanics. Time works kinda differently now. I can't really explain it." Lance shrugged his semitransparent shoulders.

"This is insane."

"You're telling me."

"And I'm not going crazy?"

"Pshh, I don't know. Maybe."

"Then why am I the only one that can see you?" Keith asked, his brain a tornado of unanswerable questions. "And how come I haven't seen you before?"

"I don't know, dude. I'm freaking dead, why are you asking me?"

"Please tell me I'm not going crazy." Keith mumbled, leaning his palms on the sink's counter, and looking at his paled face in the mirror. Lance was barely visible in the reflection behind him.

"Again, I don't know if you are or not, but sure. You're not going crazy, Keith. Beside the fact that you're the only one who can see me, and was earlier wearing a giant dick."

"You made me wear that thing!"

Lance let out another snort. "Yeah, that was pretty good."

Keith turned around, his face full of tears, and cheeks sunken. Surprising both himself and Lance, Keith leaped forward, and pulled Lance in for a hug. His arms wrapped around the ghost's back tightly, hands gripping the material of his favorite army jacket. Digging his head in the crook of Lance's neck, Keith thought about just how weird he felt. Like a mass that wasn't particularly solid, though he didn't slip through.

"Whoa, ok." Lance stuttered after gasping. "There, there." He patted Keith's back awkwardly, his feet still lifted from the ground. Keith wondered if he could even stand properly.

Keith let out a breath, then let go of Lance. He turned away, the corners of his lips dipping into a frown. "So... does this mean, you're like... haunting me?"

"Uh... I guess. Is that what I'm supposed to do?"

"I don't know. This is really weird." Keith shrugged, wiping the last tear from his eye.

"So, should I like, lurk in dark corners, and move objects, and scratch people in their sleep, and junk. That's what ghost do... well, at least on tv."

Keith heard footsteps. He turned to the door, anticipating for it to open, then remembered it was locked. Three loud knocks came, following a familiar sounding voice. "Keith? You in there?"

"Um... Yes, Hunk." Keith called back, looking nervously at Lance.

"Oh, ok." Hunk's voice was low and sympathetic. "Well, can we talk for a second? I have something to give you... It's from Lance."

Keith heard Lance wince, his shoulders raised, and forehead dripped with perspiration. He never knew ghosts could sweat, but apparently they could. Who knew? "No." Keith saw Lance mouth, swiping his hand across his neck.

"Um..." Keith answered, ignoring Lance's pleas. He wondered what he should say. Should he reveal his discovery? No, it was too soon for that. "Yeah, hold on."

Keith opened the door, and was greeted by Hunk. His tan skinned, burly friend sported a Lady-Gaga-like meat shirt and hat, that both smelled and looked horrible. Keith had to pinch his nose to bear the stench. Hunk looked at Keith up and down, his eyebrow raised. "You took off your costume?"

"Uh... Yeah." Keith glanced behind him to where he had left his suit. Lance was hovering over it, his already pale face drowned even paler than before. Why was he so nervous? "It was... hot." Keith continued. "I mean... like, in the temperature sense, not... you know what I mean. So, uh, yeah."

Hunk paused for a second, then nodded slowly. "Right." He muttered, stepping into the bathroom, and letting the door close behind him. "It's ok. You don't have to go along with this, if you don't want to. I know it's hard for all of us, so..." His voice trailed. He dragged his finger along the brim of the sealed, white letter he held. "Everyone grieves in their own way, but... I know he would have wanted you to have this. We were supposed to hand them out at the end of the funeral, but... you should probably have yours now. Just read it, then you can go. It's a letter from Lance."

Hunk outstretched his chubby arm, the letter hanging between his fingers for Keith to grab. Keith looked down at it, then over his shoulder at Lance. Hunk gave him a questioning glance.

"Uh... What are you looking at?" Hunk asked, glancing over Lance to see what exactly he was watching. All that was there was a blank, blue tiled wall.

"Nothing." Keith snapped his head back, and swiftly grabbed the envelope. "Thanks, Hunk."

"No problem." Hunk muttered, continuing to give the wall behind Keith an accusatory squint. After a second, he nodded, his steak hat flopping atop his forehead. With one last wave, Hunk backed out of the bathroom, leaving Keith alone once more - well, not quite alone.

Immediately, Lance pounced on Keith. With a gasp, Keith drew back, holding his hand high in the air, away from Lance's reach. Unfortunately for him, Lance's long limbs stretched much higher than Keith's ever could. Plus, with his new ghost flying ability, Lance easily retook the envelope. When he had it securely in his hands, Lance flung himself to the other side of the bathroom, clutching the paper tightly to his chest. "Don't" He snapped, floating higher into the air.

Keith, having to crane his neck to look Lance in the eye, jumped up. "What the heck? Don't fucking attack me!"

"You were going to read it!" Lance countered with a huff, shooing away Keith's flailing arms.

"Well, duh. It's my letter." Keith stopped jumping, knowing it was useless. "Why the hell can't I read my own letter? You wrote it for me!"

"Yeah, but, that was before -"

"Before what?"

"J - just before, ok! So, stop -"

The door opened. Gasping, Lance lost grip of the letter - or did it phase through his palm? - letting it fall to the floor. Keith's reflexes kicked in, causing him to slide down to the floor, snatching the envelope, and tearing it open before Lance had time to blink. Did ghosts blink? Keith still had so many questions.

"Uh..." A child's voice mumbled, staring wide eyed at Keith, who was hastily unfolding the stapled together, crumbled pieces of paper found in the aforementioned envelope. "Sir? Who were you talking to?"

"Myself." Keith answered, not looking up. From the corner of his eye, he saw that the kid was about eight or nine, and likely one of Lance's nephews. Being the youngest child in his family, Lance had many - and Keith meant MANY - nephews and nieces.

The kid sported a costume which made it look like a dragon was engulfing his head. He had a numerous amount of freckles across his brown skin, and his black bangs laid unevenly on his forehead. Lance looked down at him with an unreadable expression. "Ok..." The kid looked unconvinced. "Are you sure you're not schizophrenic or something?"

This caused Keith to pause. "What? No! How do you even - you know what, never mind."

Lance - translucent skin red - clasped his hands together, and shaking them in frustration. "Keith! Don't read that letter."

"You saying that is only going to make me want to read it more."

"Oh, come on. Cut a dead man some slack."

"Who are you talking to now?" The kid scratched his freckled cheek in confusion, looking Keith up and down as if he was some sort of mythical creature.

"My ghost buddy." Keith grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"Whoa! Seriously?"

Keith was through with all these distractions. Without another word, he looked down at the hastily scribbled wording of Lance's letter, and began to read.

_Dear Keith,_

_Um, hello there, Keith. Wow, this is awkward. It's like, I'm writing letters to everyone, so I'm kinda obligated to write to you too, but I don't really want to, because you are the worst, so, lol._

_I've already completed all my other letters and stuff, because I actually knew what to say, but, this is weird. Right now, I have no fucking clue what to tell you. We've been friends for a long time and all, but, I don't know... Honestly, I haven't got a clue about how I feel. About you, that is. I've got a lot of emotions and junk, and I don't really know what to do with them. But, I guess I'm dying soon, so it doesn't matter now, does it? Haha._

_I just want you to know that I'm not as selfish and shit as you might think I am. Well, It's not like I know how you really feel. But, I assume because of how badly I treat you. Or, did treat you. And, well, I hope you don't hate me or anything, because I've never actually hated you. I'm not sure if it was jealousy that made me act like such a bitch. It's just that, whenever I saw you, I for some reason wanted to prove myself. I thought: "Wow! Keith is really freaking cool! I wanna be like Keith!" So, I tried by attempting to be better than you. Of course, it never worked. I mean, I'm just an average dude, and you are like, a superhero! Everyone in the group is great in their own way, but especially you. You're like a kung fu samurai or some shit. It's freakin bananas, dude. Out of you, and the rest of our gang, I kinda feel like a seventh wheel. Well, used to that is._

_Well, anyways, please don't be mad at me and stuff. That's like, the last thing I want. Actually, I wish I could've lived a bit longer just so that I could finally tell you about my... ah, um... never mind. It's embarrassing. Like, immensely so. Plus, so, so, stupid. But... I really want you to know. It will probably make you sad, mad, grossed out, or all three. God dammit. Shit, this is so stupid... Oh, what the hell. It's not like I can be embarrassed when I'm freaking dead._

_So, you remember that time in fifth grade? Ha, of course you wouldn't. It wasn't as though it was an important day per say, and I wouldn't expect you to remember every single detail about your life, or anything. But something kinda, good, I guess, happened. So, like, I was all sad and shit because my dog, Chico died, and I was crying all day on the playground, refusing to go to school. I remember you coming up to me, and comforting me even though you had to miss class. I went on and on about stories of Chico, and you just sat there patiently, listening to me ramble. And, at one point, you reached out you hand, and wiped a tear from my cheek. My heart jumped, and I felt my skin tingle where you had touched. I never felt that with anyone else before that point, and, at the time, I didn't know what it meant._

_Then a few years later in high school, we were having a fight, and I was teasing you for not having a girlfriend and crap. But, I remember how you answered me word for word. "Lance, I don't even fucking like girls, ok. I like boys! I'm fucking gay, are you happy? I like dicks, you got a problem with that?"_

_Damn, my heart sped to the speed of light. And to think I was the only one to know. Jeez, it made me... hopeful and crap? Like, I don't know, maybe I had a chance. But, of course I screwed it up by being an asshole. Your coming out only made me colder toward you, and more afraid of what others would think if I ever did the same. My Dad especially would fucking murder my sorry ass._

_So, I attempted to suppress these emotions by telling myself that what I am is wrong. I took my frustration out on others, calling them names such as gay, pansy and other awful slurs._

_Then I had this dream. I was laying in my bed, and you were beside me. You held me in you arms, and pulled me close. I remember thinking as though it was the safest I've ever felt. I wasn't scared of my dad killing me, or concerned about what others might think. All that was important was you. And then you leaned over me, whispered in my ear, kissed me on the neck, then locked your lips with mine. It felt so real and wonderful. I want to kiss you now, but, you know. That would be pretty weird considering you still hate me, and, before this point, I've done nothing but make fun of you. I guess all I can do is daydream, and pretend all of this shit isn't happening until I die in a few days, or hours, or however long I have left._

_Gah! This is too cringe. Why won't the sweet release of death just take me already? Just promise me one last thing before I go. Please, keep this note a secret. I beg of you! Jeez, it's so fucking embarrassing. Burn it if you have to._

_So, yeah. That's it. I'm bi, and shit... surprise! You can forget you ever read this letter if you want. Ha, it's kinda ironic, isn't it? I was the first to know your dirty little secret back in high school, and now you'll be the first and last to know mine. If only I had the courage you did._

_Um, yeah... So, hope you have a life opposite of mine. Long, fulfilling, and free. Goodbye for good, Keith, I love you._

_GAHHHH! Ignore that last part too. Burn it in a fire, and feed it to the sharks, holy moly. Why am I always so awkward?_

_Bye and shit,  
Lance McClain_

Keith looked up, the letter trembling in his grasp. His heart was in his mouth when he saw Lance with his head in his hands, hovering in the corner farthest from where Keith stood. The freckle faced kid - who was still there for some reason - looked at Keith, concerned. "You ok sir?"

Keith swallowed, and forced himself to avert his eyes. "Honestly," He answered, head reeling, "I'm not sure anymore."

***

I'm sick of feeling cheap,  
cheated, and abused.  
I'm sick of losing sleep  
thinking about you.

~The Downtown Fiction / I Just Wanna Run

***

Keith was petrified.

This was already a crazy situation, but the letter - finding out Lance had feelings for him - that was what made it feel like a dream. Keith didn't know what to say or what to do. He simply kept his focus on his shoes, wishing things would magically fix themselves. Keith felt a surge of tears swell inside of him. But, why? This was what he wanted, right? But, it wasn't. Knowing the truth was not enough. It came at a terrible price. Life in exchange for a secret, it didn't seem fair. But the world wasn't fair, Keith knew that early on. Still, during moments like these, he couldn't help but get enraged. Yes, he wanted Lance to like him, but, no, not like this. Not with Lance dead.

If he had an option to switch places with Lance, he would've done in a heartbeat. Unlike Lance, who had hundreds of people who he cared for, and who cared for him, Keith only had one he held dear in his black hole of a heart. If Keith died, no one would miss him. When Lance died, everyone was crushed. Including Keith. Especially Keith.

Keith sniffed once, biting his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. The freckle faced boy - who was still there. Why was he still there? - tilted his head, his dragon nuzzle tipping in front of his sky blue eyes. "Sir, are you - crying?"

"I'm sweating." Keith grunted through clenched teeth.

"Through your eyeballs?"

"Look, kid. I don't have time for your sarcasm." Keith snapped, glancing over his shoulder at Lance. The ghost floated high in the air, half of his forehead hidden due to it merging into the ceiling. Keith wondered if he even noticed.

"I wasn't trying to be sarcastic." The boy pouted, his bottom lip jutting out. "I was only trying to help."

"I told you not to read it." Lance's voice came like a distant whisper.

Keith furrowed his brows, pivoting completely around to face Lance. "I - uh..." He didn't know what to say.

Lance rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah. I get it. I'm a fucking pansy, alright. Now you know."

"I wasn't going to call you a -"

"Let's just both agree to forget about this whole ordeal, how about it?"

"But -" Keith paused, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He held the letter tightly in his trembling palm. "Ok... Yeah, sure. Whatever. It's not - It doesn't matter anymore."

"Yeah..." Lance's voice trailed. He looked away.

"Are you talking with your ghost friend again, or were you lying about your schizophrenia after all?"

Keith turned, dark bags sagging beneath his frosty glare. "Why are you still here?"

"Because I haven't left."

Keith grunted, unamused. "Are you always this annoying?"

"My mom thought so, but that's more of a personal opinion."

"Well, first off: shut up. And secondly: get lost... Please."

The kid - freckles dotted across his nose and cheeks  
\- huffed. "Well, you don't need to be mean about it. I'm not trying to make fun of you or anything. I'm just curious about your..." He gestured vaguely to the back wall where Keith was looking beforehand. "buddy."

"Me and my buddy are just fine, so if you would be ever so kind -" Keith placed a gloved hand on the kids shoulder, and pushed him gently in the exit's direction. Because he was a child, Keith didn't want to be as duchy as he would've been with a teen or adult, though it was in Keith's nature to be harsh. Especially with the... confusing circumstances surrounding him.

"Well, I was going to use the bathroom." The kid frowned, but let Keith guide him to the door. "But, fine, I guess I'll just hold it."

"Yes, yes. You go do that. Now, bye!" When the boy was securely out of the bathroom, Keith slammed the door behind him. God, I hate kids, Keith thought. He then thought back to his childhood and teenage years, cringing at his own past-self.

Lance hovered over the sink, his vague, white glow reflecting a blurry image in the mirror. "Fuck, this is so gay. You know what, I'll just be going now, so..."

Without another word, Keith watched Lance's body drift through the mirror and wall, disappearing from sight. Keith was silent for a brief second, brain deep in contemplation, when a puff of... something formed in front of him. Looking up, Keith saw Lance, narrow jaw and all. He jumped back.

Lance looked down at himself, his eyes wide. "What the - huh? Who the hell teleported me back here?"

"Uh... What?"

"Hold up, let me try this again." Lance said, before immediately dashing back through the wall. In no more than a few seconds, poof, he was back. "What the fuck?!" He yelled in aggravation.

Keith didn't personally hold a wide range of ghostly knowledge, but he was sure random teleportation wasn't a ghostly commonplace. Shoving his letter in his pocket, - making extra sure it didn't rip - Keith took a step forward. "Touch me real quick."

Lance frowned, his face vaguely red. "Excuse me?"

Keith held out his arm. "My hand, idiot. I wanna test something."

"Oh, so I'm a lab rat now?"

"Dude, you're a freak. Of course I wanna learn more about you."

"Eh, fair enough." Lance shrugged, reaching his hand out to touch Keith's.

The same sensation as before ran from Keith's palm, up his arm, and down his spine. Shivering, Keith pulled his hand away, and looked around for an object. He had the letter, but he didn't want to use that. He didn't want it to be ruined. Keith instead seized the dick costume from off the sink, and shoved it towards Lance. The ghost looked down at it in confusion.

"Uh... What do you want me to do with this?"

"Hold it." Keith explained.

Lance, frowning, took the suit, and inspected it in his hands suspiciously. "I'm not putting this on. Sorry to disappoint you."

"You can touch people with them feeling you, and you can move objects."

"I guess... so?"

"So, you can reveal yourself to them."

"Them?"

"Your family. Your friends. Everyone." Keith rolled his eyes. Wasn't this stuff obvious?

"Eh..." Lance mumbled, running his thumb across the hem of Keith's costume. He put his knees up into a criss-cross position, making him look like an ancient statue hovering midair. "I tried, but..."

Keith raised an eyebrow, waiting for Lance to continue. "But what?"

"But, I don't know." Lance huffed. "I just - I'm not really ready... at this current moment."

"We don't have to do it at this current moment, but you are planning on revealing yourself soon, I hope." Keith crossed his arms across his chest. "But, sadly, it looks like I'm stuck with you."

"What? Why?"

Without an explanation, Keith exited the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He then turned to walk down the hall, and only reached a few feet when, poof, Lance materialized before him. The ghost blinked in confusion, his long eyelashes fluttering over his dark blue eyes. "God, fucking, dammit! It happened a third time?!"

"It's because of me, you idiot." Keith grumbled. He wasn't too happy about the newfound information either. "You can't go a certain distance from me, or you'll teleport. Why? I don't know. It's just how things are apparently."

"Well, crap. Do you think God, or Allah, or whoever the fuck is attempting to torture me? Is this actually hell? I wouldn't be surprised."

"I think someone, somewhere is trying to do something that isn't favorable for the both of us." Keith's hand twitched at his side. Oh, how he longed for the feel of his plastic phone casing, and the blaring sound of his music in his ears. It calmed Keith, letting him forget just how screwed the world was, even just for a minute. He also wanted to scan over Lance's letter again. As he read it, he remembered it having a slow beat. A sad, but hopeful tune.

Keith continued, "But the fact is, you're here when you shouldn't be, I can see you when I shouldn't, and we are - for who knows why - stuck together. So, quit bickering, because, frankly, it's giving me a damn migraine."

"Whoa! Jeez, ok." Lance uncrossed his legs, throwing the dick suit back on the sink's countertop. It unfolded itself with the impact, its head partially falling into the sink. "So, what are you planning on doing, smart guy?"

 


	2. Vol. 2

One night and one more time  
Thanks for the memories even though they weren't so great  
He tastes like you, only sweeter  
One night, yeah, and one more time  
Thanks for the memories, thanks for the memories

~Fall Out Boy / Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

***

Lance mostly told the truth.

He wasn't a lying guy in nature, and with the close relationship he had with his mother, Lance could never bring himself to fib. It felt... wrong. Dirty. Like he was committing a major felony in doing so. A treachery greater than murder itself! He hated the idea of his Mom, the person whom he worshiped, loved, and who loved him in return, being deceived by the mask of beauty which hid hideous monsters beneath. As his friend/rival put it, better the dirty truth than a pretty lie. But, alas, there was something Lance could never admit. Never to his family, and more importantly, never to himself.

Locking it inside and tossing the key sounded easy in retrospect. But it always had a bearing, lingering mischievous in the dark corner of his consciousness. No matter how much he tried, it didn't go away. And no matter how much he despised it, Lance couldn't reveal it.

When he was sixteen, Lance had a girlfriend. Before they hooked up, Lance was obsessed with Nyma. She was the prettiest, coolest, most badass chick he ever knew. And it wasn't just her looks - though that played a part - that made him like her as completely as he did. Lance loved the fact she liked the same stuff he did. Video games, shows, memes. But, after he finally mustered up the courage to ask her out, something changed. She became different... needy. No, that wasn't the word to describe it. She became bratty. Obsessive, compulsive, judgmental. Nyma forced Lance to follow her anywhere whenever, as well as pamper her on a whim. Lance was in agony.

But, one day, Nyma took Lance to her house with her posy of older, much cooler friends. Feeling out of place with his lame gray and blue t-shirt, and baggy army jacket, Lance listened as Nyma chatted away with her friends, all of who couldn't have been less than twenty. "You agree, right Lance?" One of the people of whom Nyma had introduced asked. It was Rolo, a tall, lanky man - much like himself, but a lot less awkward - with a sharp nose, and dyed, white hair. He was roughly handsome, with piercing eyes and a sly smile, which Lance forced himself to ignore.

Startled, Lance straightened to attention, completely oblivious to the conversation. "Uh, what?"

Rolo laughed his deep, suave laugh, which sent Lance's heart aflutter. "Dude, you're totally spaced out. Are you ok?"

"Yes!" Lance yelped, determined not to look like a loser. In his opinion, he was failing miserably. "I am just... tired, is all."

With his keen peripheral vision, Lance saw Nyma roll her eyes, her cherry lips smacking as she chewed her mint green gum. Forming a bubble in her mouth then popping it, she spoke in a loud whisper. "Lance, stop being so antisocial. You're embarrassing me."

The corners of Lance's lips curved down, his shoulders sagging. "I don't feel well." He lied, eyeing Rolo nervously. The man's golden, narrow gaze was locked on him, causing his brown face to grow red. Lance hated it, yet he didn't want him to turn away.

A few seconds later, Rolo waved a dismissive hand in the air, and spoke. "Don't pester him so much Nyma. He feels bad, I can tell. I know what he needs. Go on without us guys. Me and Lance will be back in a second."

Rolo then moved to him, his posture tall, and piercings glistening on the tops of his ears and side of his nose. Placing a hand around Lance's shoulders, Rolo guided him from the group, down the hall. Nyma watched him go for a moment, then immediately turned back around to her friends, no longer interested. As he silently walked with Rolo, his body stiffened anxiously at the older man's touch.

Lance's mind was racing, his body hot, and heart pumping fast - too fast for his liking. As he continued down the bleak, gray halls, with no hanging decoration to fill the dull wall space, and dust flying in swarms around him, Lance heard the other's voices muffle away. Soon it was just him, Rolo, and the repetitious sound of their steady, combined breaths. Lance opened his mouth ready to say something, when Rolo cut him short. "In here." The older boy removed his hand from Lance, and motioned to one of the nearly identical looking wooden doors. "I wanna show you something."

Lance's lips closed into a thin line, his body frozen in place. "What kinda things?" He finally managed, though his voice was squeaker than he would've liked.

Rolo smirked, look down the way they came, then back at him. With his eyes meeting Lance's, Rolo placed a bony finger over his mouth, and winked. "Secret things."

A tingle ran throughout Lance's body. He was both terrified, and anxious to get inside the room. This was new territory for the boy. A strange, new avenue yet to be explored. It felt wrong, yet thrilling. Dumbly, Lance smiled, giving an eager nod.

Rolo put his hand on the door knob, and thrusted it open, prompting Lance inside. The boy walked in to find a bathroom, small, with only a toilet in the corner, plunger to its right, and sink to its left. The toilet paper, lacking a holder, was placed on the ground beside the toilet. Its stiff, yellowish paper was nearly halfway gone. The walls, much like the hall, was bare, and lacking of any personality. The once white tiles beneath Lance's feet were cracked and stained with gray, brown, and even yellow. Lance didn't want to think about how it got that way.

Rolo closed the door behind him, his fingers sliding to turn the lock. When Lance heard the satisfying click of the door, his heart began pounding hard against his chest. How did he get in this situation? He couldn't even remember. This was all so... overwhelming. Pinning his back to the wall, Lance sucked in a shaky breath, and waited. What he was expecting, he honestly wasn't sure. What he wanted was for Rolo to kiss him, but it didn't happen. Instead, the older man reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a bag of green nugget looking thingies. Lance was suddenly underwhelmed.

The next few minutes went by awkwardly, with Rolo attempting to trade his drugs for Lance's money, and Lance politely refusing. Yeah, no. Lance may have been hanging out with bad people, but his mother taught him better than that. Flustered, the two rejoined the group, and Lance made an excuse to walk back home. When he entered his house, his mom asked why he came back early, and Lance responded with, "I think I want to break up with my girlfriend."

Seconds, minutes, hours passed, and Lance's brain was still dwelling on the moment. Rolo was a boy. An undeniably male person, yet Lance still had the desire to kiss him. What the fuck was wrong with him? Lance liked girls, no doubt about it, but he liked boys just as much, and that was what he couldn't shake. Though he knew this for awhile, this had been the closest time he actually came to... acting on his desires, and that scared him to death.

He imagined his dad: face red with anger, neck lined with veins as he spat slur after slur. When Lance closed his eyes, he saw Mr. McClain's fist high, brown skin rough, and ready to strike. Fuck, he would be pissed. Extremely so. And his mom would be powerless to stop him, her round face pale with terror, eyes bugged from her head, and throat horse whilst pleading hopelessly for him to stop. But nothing could interfere with Lance's dad once the flame ignited inside of him. If they try, disaster. Best case scenario: get punched one, and beg it satisfies his vexation. Worst case scenario: well, Lance didn't want to imagine.

In short, Lance could never do that to his mother. He still remembered the bruise she revived - a dark, gray smudge running from her left eye down the brim of her nose - from the last time Lance disappointed his father. With f, after f, after f in his grade book, Mr. McClain was anything but pleased with his youngest. Needless to say, Lance studied ten times as hard from then on out.

Suddenly, Lance heard his phone ring from inside his blue, stuffed backpack. Shifting his position on the covers, Lance sat up, and dug in his bag for his old fashioned, cheap, flip phone. Having a total of twelve kids in all, Mrs. McClain was powerless to provide all her children with the newest in technologies. No one complained however, and were glad for the hard work, and things she did provide. The important things: love, care, food, shelter. That was more than enough for both Lance, and his brothers and sisters.

Lance flipped open his phone, and read the contact. Douchey mcdoucherson. Ah, Keith was calling. His brother, looking suspiciously at him from the other side of the bedroom, watched Lance as he brought the phone to his ear, and said, "What's up, you piece of shit?"

"You have the notes for Mrs. Bitch's class?" Keith asked, his voice deep, and tired sounding as usual.

"Mrs. Brett? Yeah, I got it. Why?"

"I missed last period. I need to copy your notes. Send me screenshots."

"Uh..." Lance mumbled, eyeing his ancient flip phone. "How about I just bring the notes to you."

"Oh, yeah." Keith's voice was a bit quieter, as if he had inched away from the speaker. "Forgot you still use caveman technology."

"Whatever, dick. I'll be there in ten." Without another word, Lance hung up. Tossing his phone back in the front pocket, Lance grabbed his bag, and flung it over his shoulder.

"Where are you going?" Nico, Lance's older brother by a year, asked. His long, black bangs fell in front of his face, covering his eyeliner painted lids.

"Narnia." Lance answered sarcastically, taking a step to the door.

Nico smacked his black lips, his voice humming notes that sounded both scary, and idiotic. He fiddled with his creepy voodoo doll in one hand, and licked his sharpened butter knife in the other. Sometimes, Nico's antics scared even him. "Don't get too cocky. I see trouble to come."

"Riggghhhhttt." Lance nodded, rolling his eyes. If he had a penny for every time Nico uttered the line, 'trouble to come', Lance would have a lot of damn pennies. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for your other worldly advice, Nics."

"If you keep calling me Nics, I sense trouble to come in the near future." Nico tightened his grip on the end of his butter knife. "The very near future."

"Alright, alright. Sorry, Nics. See you later." Lance slammed the bedroom door behind himself before Nico had the opportunity to respond. And with that, Lance was off to Keith's house, the events of that day still present in the darkest reaches of his mind.

***

In the end  
Everyone ends up alone  
Losing her  
The only one who's ever known  
Who I am, who I'm not, and who I wanna be  
No way to know  
How long she will be next to me

~Fray / You Found Me

***

Lance took his bicycle to Keith's house.

It wasn't a far trip. Like Lance, Keith lived in a small home. But, unlike Lance, Keith lived alone, so it was a bit more bearable. At least, that's what Lance assumed. He couldn't imagine living alone. Because he grew up in a busy environment, with constant talking and action, he was used to it. Silence felt... odd.

Throwing his bike down on the lawn, Lance hopped up, and jogged to the house's entrance. Before he even had the chance to knock, Keith opened the door, his long, black hair in a ponytail, and signature eye bags dark, and prevalent. He wore a short sleeved, black t-shirt over a long sleeved, red shirt. He also had tight, tight navy colored jeans, which Lance wondered how he could even breath in. Stone faced, Keith said, "Come in."

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Keith disappeared into his dark, creepy home. Did he ever turn the lights on? Lance doubted it. The dude was like a vampire, hissing at any sign of daylight.

Wearily, Lance entered. He felt like a shrimp in the belly of the beast. A familiar, yet strange place. On the walls hung many different music posters with flaming skulls, rockers with guitars, and other edgy imagery. The 'decorations' were scattered atop the chipped, white paint of the walls like nobody's business. Though he was smart and good with music, Keith wasn't the best when it came to lavish decor. Neither was he the best housekeeper, as dirty laundry scattered across the wooden floor, as well as school papers, and other random crap. Lance, though he tried, couldn't avoid from stomping his mud stained soles over everything. Keith on the other hand, was precise with his steps. Without even looking down, his feet managed to find every bare surface of the ground, and maneuver forward without a sweat. The guy was like a ninja.

Keith waved his hand in the air, wordlessly gesturing Lance into another room. Entering, Lance discovered it to be the kitchen - or, at least, the shell of a kitchen. There was a counter, an oven, and a microwave as all proper kitchens possessed. But, instead of a normal, full sized cooling devise, Keith displayed a mini-fridge in the hollowed out space where a normal fridge ought to have been. Whatever he had stored in there, Lance was positive about one thing: it couldn't have qualify as a proper meal. Ice cream, beer, string cheese, and whatever other crap he had lurking in that icy desert known as an icebox.

Keith walked to the mini fridge, opened the top, and took out a can of root beer. Getting a peek inside, Lance was relieved to find no illegal beer. Keith was trudging on thin ice as was, and the last thing he needed were cops discovering his little, underage drinking secret. Or that he lived alone for that matter.

He was supposedly living with his grandma, but that bitch kicked the bucked years ago. And for all the better. That grandma was mean! Like, Lance's dad's angry bursts mean, yet a lot less face crushing, and a lot more soul crushing. Even at seventy six, that woman had a way with words. None of her opponents stood a chance! Luckily for Keith however, Mrs. Kogane Senior tripped over her own untied laces, falling face first onto the hard, cold, pavement road, dying instantly. At her funeral, both Keith and Lance took turns pissing on her grave. A special moment for them both, as well as an important event in their relationship, when they finally came together in peace, and related over a common interest.

They were the only ones to show up at the ceremony, besides the people Keith paid to dig a ten foot deep hole, and haul her cheap, wooden casket into it. To this day, Lance wasn't quite sure why Keith went through all the trouble in the first place. Maybe, deep down, he felt as though it was his responsibility as a grandson. This was his last living family member, - at least that he knew of - so it must have been hard on him, even if he didn't show it.

But, despite this, authority didn't catch on to the death of Keith's 'beloved' guardian, letting him live alone in peace. With her unmarked grave, and lack of presence even in life, it was easy to see why. People higher up didn't wander into this part of town. Lance couldn't blame them either. With teens wreaking havoc on the streets, and explosive fireworks being set off frequently, no matter the time of day or occasion, Lance wouldn't want to lurk where they were either. Especially when ninety nine percent of the residents hated their guts, and the other one percent were too mentally insane to care. Ah, their neighborhood. Living the absolute dream. Well, a nightmare that is, but still a dream nevertheless.

Keith, twisting the cap of his soda, sat down beside his dining room table. It was covered in schoolbooks, sheet music, and other crap that made it almost impossible to use for the purpose it was attended for.

Keith flipped his notebook open to his homework, and signaled Lance over. Retrieving the notes from his backpack, Lance sat down beside him on the only other available chair. Not looking up, Keith's eyes scanned over Lance's messily scribbled garbage, and began writing. Watching in awe, Lance wondered how Keith was even able to translate the letters. He wasn't going to lie, his handwriting sucked. Most times, he wasn't sure if he was writing actual English, or some made up language his brain subconsciously concocted.

Keith bit the end of his pencil, contemplated, then scribbled something down on his homework. His handwriting - though not good - was miles above Lance's skill set. Seriously, was this guy good at everything?

After a few more seconds of boredom, Lance said, "You're a terrible host, you know that, right?"

"I don't live to entertain you, Lance." Keith responded with a scoff. "You're only here so I can finish my homework. If you want to leave, be my guest. But, since I'm not allowed inside your home, I won't be able to give you this back until next Monday. So, your call."

"Can't you just take a picture with your phone, or some shit?"

Keith reached into his pocket, and pulled out his fancy - at least compared to Lance's sorry excuse for a phone - IPhone. The screen looked passable, besides a few scratches here and there, but the back of it was in complete shambles. Cracks, paint, stains, what in the world happened to it? The camera was covered in black paint, and cracked down the middle. There was no way in hell the thing could snap a adequate pic, no matter the filter. "Jesus fuck!" Lance exclaimed. "What did you do?"

"Fell in a can of paint at work. Plus, some guys smashed it beneath a hammer to test its 'satiability' when I left it out in the locker room. The other camera doesn't work either."

"That doesn't look safe." Lance commented, looking at the exposed inner core, and sharp plastic and glass that stuck out at odd angles. The thing looked like a device specifically designed to inflict pain. Well, at least it suited Keith now.

Keith shrugged. "Because it isn't. But, it's not like I can do anything about it now. I'm broke."

"Same girl, same." Lance stood, twisting his head to look at the multiple different posters. He didn't recognize any of the bands, not being real into edgy music. He was more of a top thirty type of guy. "What's that band?" He asked, pointing to one of the pictures showing a hand holding a grenade heart. "Green Day? Why is the day green?"

Keith rolled his eyes. "Google them yourself."

"That's cold." Lance huffed. "You know well I don't have internet access."

"Well, I'm not your alternative. So, shush, this will go by a lot faster if you stop distracting me."

"Hmph. Meanie." Lance folded his arms across his chest, eyeing Keith's writing hand suspiciously. His hand moved swiftly across the paper. It looked like a ballet. The skillful flicks of his wrist as he began and ended each letter made it look beautiful and effortless. Lance wished he could do that - make something look easy - even if it was just a simple little thing. He wasn't good at anything but reciting All Star on a whim, and procrastinating.

What felt like hours later, Keith got up, and said, "I'm going to the bathroom. Don't touch anything until I come back. And, try not to kill yourself either. I just cleaned the blood off my floor from the last guy who attempted to touch my CDs."

"Bathroom?" Lance attempted to keep his tone steady, but a voice crack seeped through somewhere between R and the second O. His brain wandered back to earlier that day with Rolo and Nyma. Jeez, why couldn't he forget about it already? It was such a non-thing, his brain mistook for a big deal. Honestly, Lance was sick and tired of his mind's treatment of him. Who did that fool take him for?

"Yes, bathroom." Keith nodded sarcastically. "That magical place where you shit in a toilet, flush, and it disappears before your very eyes."

"Where shit goes? Should I shove you into it then?"

Keith, ignoring Lance's brilliant comeback, exited down the hall. As a wave of silence overtook him, Lance recalled the second when Rolo locked the door, and when Lance thought: 'Oh, crud. This is for real.' only to be sorely disappointed. Why was he disappointed? What the hell was wrong with him?

As it replayed in his head, Rolo's long fingers reach for the lock, only for them to shift form in the blink of an eye. Keith's hand - gloved as always - clicked the door closed, and turned to Lance. In this vision, instead of reaching into his pocket for drugs, Keith went to Lance, grabbed him by the hips, and pinned him against the wall. Their lips locked, and Lance was in heaven. As he imagined his hands dragging up Keith's back and under his shirt, Lance was snapped from his vision when Keith - the real Keith - asked, "What are you making that face for?"

Startled, Lance nearly jumped from his chair. His brown face glowing bright red, he said, "Wha? You're done already?"

"I was in there for like, five minutes. It doesn't take that long to take a shit. When I came back in, you were staring at the table, making that creepy perv face of yours."

"Creepy perv face? What creepy perv face?"

"The one you always get when you see Allura or Nyma, and shit." Keith pointed an accusatory finger at him. "What the hell were you imagining?"

"Your face in the toilet."

"Didn't know you were a masochist."

Lance furrowed his eyebrows, his ears heating up. "You aren't using that word correctly. Masochism is when people get gratification from others inflicting pain on them, or inflicting pain upon themselves."

"So, sadist then?"

"No, it's -" Lance paused, taking in how ridiculous their entire conversation was. If he continued, he would only be digging himself an even deeper grave. "Whatever. Shut up, idiot."

A ring came from the cracked, paint covered phone. Before Lance had the chance to read the contact, Keith snatched it from off the table, and brought it to his ear. With a click of a button, the ringing stopped, and Keith answered, "Hello?"

Keith was silent for another few seconds, listening to the other caller's words. Lance could barely make out the faint muffle of a deep, male voice. At first, he thought it must of been his dad or something, but remembered: oh, right. Keith doesn't have a father. At least, not a living one.

While he was still trying to listen, Lance interrupted their conversation by saying, "Whoa! You actually get calls now? I thought you were a loner!"

Keith brought the speaker closer to his ear, and a finger to his mouth. He scrunched his eyebrows, concentrating on the call. "Tomorrow?" He asked, "Ok, got it. See you then."

Lance frowned, and waited another minute for Keith to hang up. He tapped his fingers against the mess varnished table, moving his right leg up and down impatiently. When Keith placed his fancy, wrecked iPhone back down next to his homework, Lance asked a bit coldly, "Who was that?"

"Nobody." Keith muttered back, his face hovering above his papers. His hands imminently went back to work, twirling across the page like the white swan.

With a huff, Lance presses on, "Come on, tell me! I'm not going to stop pestering you until you do."

"It's just some guy I know, ok."

"Some guy? Like, from school?"

"No. From work. He's in college."

"Ew! I didn't know you like older men. That's gross, dude." Lance scrunched his nose.

"It's not like that." Keith sighed, rubbing his temple with the end of his chewed eraser. "Now, shut up. Your vocal cords are deep frying my brain."

"What's his name?"

"Shiro."

"That's a lame name." Lance stuck out his tongue, letting his head collapse onto the table. He got a better view of Keith's pale skin, thick eyebrows, and long eyelashes. He looked so tense. Lance wondered why he stressed over school so much, especially since he was, like, the smartest kid in the whole of America. "Sounds like cheerios, but with an S."

"Better than Lance." Keith countered. "At least his name isn't a thrusting weapon with a long wooden shaft and a sharp metal head."

"What the hell? Did you get that definition off of Dictionary.com?"

"No, Thefreedictionary.com." He clarified. "I knew it would come in handy one day."

Lance placed a hand to his chest, downright offended. "W-well... At least I don't chase after older dudes named after cereal!"

"He's not named after cereal."

"Uh, yeah he is. Cheerios, aka: Sheerios. The connection is uncanny."

"God dammit, Lance. I'm never going to finish at this rate."

"You think this boyfriend of yours eats cereal for breakfast, and thinks: 'wow, I can't believe I'm eating my own kind!' but then finishes his bowl anyways, because they taste so delicious, and then he tries to eat himself to see if he tastes good too?"

"Lance, I swear if you don't shut the fu -"

"Does he bathe in a tub of milk, and slather himself in cheerio soap?" Lance sat his head up from off the table, and rested his chin in his palm. Looking blankly at the wall ahead of him, he continued. "Oh my god, why do you like this guy? He sounds so insane!"

"Why do you care so much? Jealous or something?"

Lance's head snapped back to Keith. His face was suddenly flushed, as his throat emoted a phony laugh. Lance was then silent for a moment before saying, "Ha, yeah, you wish, you fucking... gay... cereal... liker."

"Sweet burn bro." Keith, aka: fucking-gay-cereal-liker, rolled his eyes, pushing Lance's notes back to him. "You know, if you're just going to make fun of me the whole time, I might as well ask for Hunk's help instead. I barely know him, but at least he won't make a thousand comments about fucking cereal while I'm trying to work."

Keith stood, and was about to leave when Lance grabbed him by the wrist, and forced him back down in the chair. "Fine!" He spoke reluctantly. "I'll be quiet."

With one last glare, Keith turned back to his homework, and leaned over it. The stray strands of hair which dubiously escaped Keith's ponytail fell across his face. Lance watched silently as seconds... minuets... hours went past. The entire time he focused on Keith's features, and how they gradually transformed with every new sentence his hands conjured. Lance liked the way his thick, black eyebrows scrunched together above his piercing, narrow eyes. He was also especially fascinated with the color of Keith's pupils, that seemed to change from a dark gray, to a purple, than to a blue in a matter of seconds. Nothing about him was a sure thing, not even the way he looked. Because of this, Lance couldn't help but stare.

A time later, Lance looked down at his watch, and saw that an hour and thirty minutes had already passed. "Shit!" He yelped. "It's past my curfew! My dad is going to kill me!"

"I'm still not done yet. Can't you... call them?"

"You don't understand! I can't go past curfew under any circumstances! Not unless I'm sleeping over at someone's house."

Keith sighed, scratching the back of his neck. When he didn't respond, Lance said, "Dammit... He's going to fucking murder me..."

"I'm sure you're over exaggerating."

Lance fell silent. He averted his gaze, his thumb tracing the center of his palm nervously. Keith looked at him, stone faced, then gave another exasperated sigh. "Ok, Lance. Do you... Want to stay the night... or -"

"THANK YOU!" Lance's face lit up. It was as though a great burden had been lifted from off his shoulders. Grabbing his phone, Lance dialed his mother. "Hey, mom..." He began. "I'm staying over at a friend's tonight, is that alright?"

***

She tells me 'worship in the bedroom'  
The only heaven I'll be sent to  
Is when I'm alone with you  
I was born sick, but I love it  
Command me to be well

~Hozier / Take Me To Church

***

That night, Lance slept on Keith's couch.

It was a small couch, not nearly big enough for Lance to squeeze his entire body onto. His lanky limbs, normally spread out starfish style on his own bed, hung from the sides of the sofa, touching the cold, hardwood ground. Was this what it felt like to be homeless? Because, dang, it wasn't comfortable.

Of course, Keith - the loner - wouldn't have an extra bed somewhere for guests. Who else came here besides Lance? Nobody, that's who. Well... maybe that college, cheerio dude. It made Lance sick just thinking about it. Seriously, what was Sheerios that Lance wasn't? And why the hell were they meeting up tomorrow? And where? Lance had to know! He couldn't have Keith getting mixed up in some sketchy junk. If he died, then who would Lance have left to kill? He simply couldn't stand around and do nothing!

His mind traveled back to Rolo, then to the image of Keith in the bathroom. He didn't seriously have a perv face... did he? No, Keith was only trying to get under his skin.

As he stared blankly up at the bare ceiling, Lance couldn't help but get angry. Who did Keith think he was, being all handsome and junk? And, to top it off, he was the first of tell Lance of his little secret. Not intentionally, of course, but still. It made Lance feel special, but at the same time burdened. It was like... could Keith actually like him? No, that was impossible. Besides, why did he care? It wasn't as if Lance liked him back. Well... um... maybe he did, but he would never admit it to himself. Besides, Keith was too busy swooning over some older guy named after cereal. Stupid cereal... Lance made a mental note to never eat cereal ever again. Even if it was delicious, he couldn't bare to look at a bowl of it the same way as before, let alone a box of Cheerios. Damn Cheerios...

Lance closed his eyes, and attempted to fall asleep. His mind drifted elsewhere however, and that, along with his uncomfortable position, prevented Lance from resting peacefully. He couldn't shake the fact that, Keith - Keith, the fucking-gay-cereal-liker - was in a room just besides where he laid. He kept telling himself to calm down, and just pretend it was his own bed. But, the way his legs hung from the end of the sofa's armrest, and the lack of noise coming from his brother's demonic rituals, it wasn't too convincing. The silence scared him, as well as made him think. And he didn't like what he was thinking about.

What felt like a lifetime later, Lance finally managed to sleep. In his dream he was in his bed. But it felt different than before. He didn't hear the constant buzz of the air conditioner, or the muffled noises coming from his young, rowdy nieces and nephews, too high on sugar to stay still despite their parents multiple attempts to sooth them. Nico was also absent, the sounds of his knife blades rubbing against one another, and whispered chants a fleeting memory. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell something was off. Because, even without the normal sounds, Lance knew he was in his bed. And, despite the silence, he clearly felt a presence. Not the usual parent or family member however. Someone different. Someone who wasn't supposed to be there.

Lance opened his eyes. His heart dropped when he saw the sleeping face in front of him. Lids closed, hair falling across his face, and mouth opened only slightly, letting his faint breaths brush against Lance's cheek. It was Keith. With the limited space provided by his bed, Lance and Keith were close. Uncomfortably so. If Lance moved only a centimeter foreword, they would be touching. Even without the covers above him, the body heat from Keith warmed him. He wanted to reach out, and pull him closer.

Wearily, Lance lifted his palm, and went to touch Keith's cheek. Why? He wasn't sure himself. His heart seemed to act against his better judgement. Lance's pointer finger touched Keith's cheek, then his middle finger, then ring. His hand dragged along the other boy's cheekbone, brushing away a few stray strands of hair. He then traveled down to his jaw, and was about to touch his thumb to Keith's lip, when he felt Keith shift. Hastily, Lance's hand flailed back. He backed up as far as he could without falling off the side of the bed, and watched in terror as Keith's eyes blinked awake.

Keith smiled, his narrow eyes squinting. The lights were off, but rays of light did shine down from the window, giving Keith's outline a luminescent glow. Lance swallowed back his nerves, his focus on Keith's alien expression. Did his lips always curve up into an uneven arc when he smiled? Lance never bothered to noticed. Granted, they had never been so close, and it was a rarity for Keith to show any other emotion beside mad or neutral.

Keith wordlessly reached his hand out, and placed it on Lance's arm. He traced his finger from Lance's forearm to his shoulder, then wrapped it around his back. Lance held his breath as Keith pulled him closer - closer - closer - until Lance's head rested against Keith's chest. Though his ear was only inches from where Keith's heart would have been, he didn't hear anything. Was this what dreams did? Take away basic, human functions such as the steady rhythm of a heartbeat? Or, perhaps, Lance was simply too stunned to catch it.

As he felt Keith's body against his, a wave of warmth overtook Lance. The hairs on his arms and legs stood on end, but he felt surprisingly calm. Everything about this was wrong. The house being completely still when it shouldn't. Keith being in his home when he shouldn't. And Lance, feeling safe in Keith's arms when he shouldn't. But, though deep down he knew this reality was completely askew, all Lance could think about was how oh-so-right it felt.

All his worries had been washed away. His family, his friends, his father, none scared him the way they should. All that mattered was him, Keith, and their touch. No girlfriends that took advantage of him, no prejudice to keep his true self hidden. Just Keith. And Keith was wonderful. The best thing in the world. No, in this moment, Keith was his world. And Lance didn't need anything more.

Keith shifted again. Lance looked up as Keith placed his hands on either side of him, holding himself just above Lance. Keith bent down, his mouth brushing against Lance's ear. He whispered something incomprehensible, yet real, as though he was speaking a foreign language. As a shiver ran down Lance's back, Keith kissed his neck sweetly, then lifted back up to face him.

Lance's eyes fell shut as Keith leaned down, locking lips with his own. He forgot this was a dream. No, this couldn't be. This was too real. Though he never experienced it before, this was the realist thing that ever happened to him. Lance had never been so sure of anything else before. Yes, real. Even if he woke up now, or days from now, he would keep this stance. And he did.

The dream faded, leaving Lance sad, alone, and longing. As he drifted endlessly through a black void of nothingness, he heard a faint murmur. Pushing everything else aside, Lance listened, hopeful. The voice got louder, and louder, and he soon realized it was indeed Keith's. The whispers became louder and louder, until they weren't whispers, but shouts. "Wake up!" Lance heard him say, an unseen force gripping and shaking Lance's arm.

With a gasp, Lance woke. Reflexively, his body pulled itself up. Breathing heavily, Lance brought a hand to his forehead, his mind adjusting to the situation. "Finally." A voice - practically a grumble - came from behind.

Lance snapped his head around. When he caught sight of Keith he couldn't help but scream.

Keith jumped back from his kneeling position beside the couch, eyes wide and mouth bent down into a scowl. "What the hell, dude?"

Lance turned away, his brown face turning a dark crimson. "You scared me. I was trying to sleep."

"It's almost ten. I think that's a good enough time as any to get up."

Lance let out another gasp - softer than before - and looked to the window. Beams of light shone through, brightening the once grim interior of Keith's home. Already ten? But Lance never slept in. He normally woke at about six - sooner on weekdays. But due to him falling asleep late - and the obvious - his body was still sleep deprived, and needed more time to recover. And, you know, he didn't really want to wake. He much preferred Dream Keith over the real Keith, who rudely interrupted his and Dream Keith's moment. The moment in which he was never going to recite. Though he wasn't a lying guy, this secret was beyond sharing. Some things were simply meant to be kept.

Lance turned his body so that his feet touched the wooden floor. His knees were nearly driving into his chest. Wow, the couch really was low to the floor. It felt like a sofa for kids in kindergarten. Brought him back to the days he rose above all his classmates, and had an uncomfortable time trying to poop on the nearly ground-level toilets. He felt envy for his friends such as Pidge, who could fit almost everywhere, and didn't have others constantly reminding her of just how fucking tall she is. Because, damn, it wasn't as though Lance knew that fact already or anything. Sometimes he wondered if short people saw tall people as an entity of worship. He wouldn't be surprised.

Keith was not short. He was only about an inch below Lance, making him the third shortest in the group ahead of Allura and Pidge. Hunk was a bit taller than Lance, which made him both happy, and angry.

All together, they were a strange group of friends. Lance wondered what they would think if they knew. He wondered what Keith would think if he knew. He didn't want to find out, but, at the same time, longed to. More than anything, he wanted to kiss Keith. But that was ridiculous. Because, by all accounts friends weren't supposed to like each other, let alone rivals. And according to his father, and others he knew, boys weren't supposed to like boys.


	3. Vol. 3

Past lives couldn't ever hold me down  
Lost love is sweeter when it's finally found  
I've got the strangest feeling  
This isn't our first time around

~BØRNS / Past Lives

***

Keith invited all of Lance's friends to his house.

It was a crazy idea, mental even, but a necessary one. Unsure of how things would turn out, Keith told everyone to sit on the seats provided from his garage. They included overturned buckets, boxes full of books, and old, coverless pillows to name a few. Not getting many guests on a regular basis, Keith never found the need to provide places for a group to sit. But, here he was. Part of a circle of people including Hunk, Pidge, Allura, Shiro, and even Coran all staring patiently as they awaited Keith to explain why exactly they were gathered. Lance hovered in the center of the circle, his back to Keith, and lanky legs lifted in the air. He seemed to be scanning each one of his friends discreetly. Keith noticed the sadness in his posture, even without reading his expression. But, no matter. After this, everything would be set right.

"So..." Shiro spoke up after a long while of silence. "Why have you gathered us here?"

Lance snapped his head back, causing Keith's heart to sink. He wanted this so bad, so, why was he nervous? Perhaps it was that he didn't want to appear crazy? Or perhaps - just perhaps - he really was crazy.

Lance appeared pale and ghoulish, much worse than before. His light brown skin was blanched and smudgy. The beautiful blue of his eyes were completely overtaken by black, making him look like a true thing of nightmares. But, with the sorrowfulness prevalent in his features, Keith found it impossible to be scared. He knew for certain that the phantom before of him wasn't something to be shaken by. No matter what form he took on, Lance was Lance, and there was no changing that fact. And, no matter what, Keith was going to make sure his friends knew of his presence. Because, that was what they deserved. And, more importantly, that was what Lance deserved.

Keith's thumb ran across the belt of his jeans, then slid down to his pocket. He traced the outline of the letter he kept safely in his jeans, averting his eyes from the group. The paper seemed to give him courage. Keith finally swallowed back his worries, and spoke. "Uh, yes, well..." He met Lance's eyes before continuing. "Do any of you believe in... the supernatural?"

The group all shared questioning looks, their faces stunned. They were obviously not expecting a question such as that. After a moment of awkward silence, Shiro, once again, was the first to speak. "Why are you asking?"

"J - just because... I need you all to answer though. Because, I don't want you to find me insane, or whatever. So, like, I need you guys to have a open mind about this, because it's pretty fucking crazy. I mean, I don't think I even believe it myself!" Keith rambled. He wasn't used to piling so much information into so few sentences. It seemed like something Lance would do, not him. Was that damn ghost boy already rubbing off on Keith? Now, that was a scary thought.

Shiro sucked in his lips, giving a side glance to Allura, who sat directly beside him. Allura, her long, wavy, white hair tucked away into a tight bun, shrugged. "I mean... I'm not saying I believe in every little conspiracy, but I'm open minded."

Shiro nodded. "Same here. And, of course we don't think you're crazy."

"Oh, yeah." Hunk nodded. "There are definitely vampires out there somewhere, I know that much for a fact."

Coran twirled his mustache in agreement. "I thought I saw Bigfoot once, but it turned out to just be a really hairy guy with big, exposed feet. But, yes, I am determined to find the real thing one day. Just you wait."

Everyone stared at Pidge - the only one who hadn't spoken- anticipating an answer. Being a technology / science enthusiast, Keith wasn't sure what her response would be. With a sigh, Pidge answered, "No, but I'd like someone to prove me wrong."

"Ok..." Keith closed his eyes, fingers pressed against his pocket. "Just... none of you... please don't freak out."

All five guests drew in their eyebrows, and tended their shoulders. Keith didn't blame him. The cliche he uttered was something out of every sci-fi in the history of books and cinema. And everyone knew what that meant. Trouble.

With another deep inhale, Keith finally pushed the words he wanted to say out. "I can see ghosts. Well, not plural. Singular. Like, I can see a ghost. And, yah, so..."

Everyone fell silent, their expressions unreadable. Keith's face turned a dark shade of red, his throat on fire. They definitely thought he was crazy now. Lance's head fell into his palms, as though he was embarrassed for Keith.

"That's, uh..." Shiro was finally lost for words.

"I can prove it!" Keith cut in. Swiftly, he bent down, and snatched a book from off his junk veiled floor. Holding it out with one hand, he gestured Lance foreword. The ghost, a tad hesitantly, floated next to him. The others watched in terror as Keith's eyes followed a seemingly unseen entity.

"Pick it up." Keith whispered, shoving the book in Lance's direction.

Lance looked down at it nervously. "Are you sure about-"

"Yes, I'm sure. Let's just get this over with."

"There's something... There's something I didn't tell you... it's just..."

"What do you mean?" Keith demanded through his lined jaw.

Lance nearly vanished, then regained his shape. He seemed to do that whenever he grew nervous. "I tried before, but... I told you this, but it didn't work."

"What? How? Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Lance..." Shiro said in his classic consulting tone, though Keith could tell he was rattled. "If this is some sort of prank, it isn't funny."

The others were unable to speak. All the color from their faces drained away, as they attempted to wrap their brains around Keith's altered behavior. To them, he was talking to himself.

"I - it's not a prank!" Keith assured. "I'm serious! And, I'm talking to him now - the ghost. He's..." For a moment he considered explaining that the ghost was actually Lance, but decided against it. They didn't need to be any more upset than they already were. Keith shook the book in his palm impatiently. "Here, just hold it."

Lance's gaze narrowed, his stare trained on Keith. Finally, he gave him a nod, and attempted to take the book. When Keith believed the cover was securely in Lance's grasp, he let go of its binding. The book slipped past the ghost's fingers, landing on the hardwood floor with a bang. Keith's eyes widened. "W - what?"

"I tried to tell you..." Lance mumbled. "It doesn't work in front of other people."

Keith paused, jaw opened in awe. Then he grew mad. He felt heat rush up through his veins, turning his pale skin red. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought it would work!" Lance protested. "Well... I wasn't sure. I don't know. I was still able to touch objects when you were with me - so, I thought, maybe I could..."

Keith's arm trembled. He could barely stand. Great. Of course it wasn't that easy. It was foolish to think fate had any other plans besides complication in store for Keith. Biting his lip, he reached his hand out in attempt to touch Lance. But, as expected, he passed right through. A chill ran from Keith's fingers, down his spine. This wasn't good. No, this was terrible.

Lance's form became nearly transparent, then reformed, then faded away again. In that moment, Keith knew for certain everything was ruined. He no longer had a chance, nor direction. All he could do was wait, and wish things panned out in some sort of desirable way. But, at this point, he held no hope.

"Keith..." Pidge was the one to speak this time. Her tone was of a mother attempting to calm a child with a fit. "Is this about Lance?"

An uncomfortable wave of tension piled the moment Pidge uttered his name. Three days after his funeral was too soon to be speaking of him without sadness. But here he was, seated with Lance's dearest friends, discussing the incommunicable. Lance. The word was toxic to his ears.

"It's... no." Keith lied. "Just... I'm sorry..."

Shiro's shoulders loosened only slightly. "I know it's hard, Keith. It is for all of us. But this is no way to go about grieving."

"No, it's -" Keith started, averting his eyes to his shoes. "Yes... I know."

"If you ever need to talk about anything, - anything at all - we're here. Just remember that. We are all going through what you're going through." Shiro added.

"Yes." Allura agreed. "Lance was like a brother to me. And, out of all of us, you two were the closest."

Lance frowned at this. "Brother?" He pouted.

"I still remember the first time we met." The corners of Shiro's lips perked up into a fond, yet sad smile. "He wouldn't stop calling me Sheerios."

"Because Shiro sounds like Cheerios." Lance attempted to justify.

Keith had the urge to say, 'no you idiot' but knew better than to add fuel to the fire, further solidifying his supposed 'nutty' behavior.

"He was so fun and outgoing." Shiro continued. "He always found a way to entertain me on my worst days, and encourage me at my lowest points. No matter the situation, he only wanted to see the happiness of others shine through. He was such a good friend and role model for both us, and his young nieces and nephews. Truly someone to look up to."

Everyone but Keith and Lance nodded in confirmation, grunting to show they felt the same. Keith's stomach tightened as he caught the briefest side glance of Lance. The ghost boy had his lips in a thin line, his skinny eyebrows no longer arched cockily, as was his normal expression. Keith couldn't tell if he was upset, uncomfortable, or both. Either way, he had the sudden urge to get Lance out of there as soon as humanly possible, and at all costs.

"I met Lance in middle school, and our first confrontation was quite... interesting." Allura put in, crossing her elegant legs. "He brought me a bundle of blue flowers dressed in his best light blue, collared shirt. He had his hair slicked back, and everything!After school, he found me, fumbling over his words whist confessing his feeling towards me. He was so sweet and charming. But, unfortunately I had to reject him. He was grades below me, plus, I wasn't allowed to date at the time anyways. He was so humble about it, asking if we could still be friends. I said yes of course, and, to this day, it was the best decision I've ever made. I haven't regretted it for a second." She looked around, meeting everyone's eyes individually. "He introduced me to all of you, and that itself is a miracle."

"Aw, shucks." Pidge waved a dismissive hand in the air. "You're making me blush."

Allura giggled. "But it's true! All of you are miracles in my eyes, and that includes Lance. Especially Lance. He taught me how to have real fun, and helped me get over my stress. When I was sad, I was always reassured knowing I had a shoulder to lean on."

"He acted happy all the time, but he held a real sadness inside." Coran, his thick British accent - much like Allura's - was intentionally toned back, perhaps to make them all understand better. "He came to my class the first day, eager as always, and I knew from the moment I met him, he had great potential inside. Though he was sometimes... distracted and unmotivated, he was one of my best students. Out of my career, not just that particular class. He not only studied hard, but was interested in my lectures. After class, he would immediately come to me with questions, or just to talk. And, when other students and staff teased me for the way I act or how I sound, Lance was the first to stand up for me. In fact, if not for him, I don't know if I would still have my job. Yes, that boy was something else."

Keith saw Coran's purple eyes water. He sniffed once, biting back his tears. He always was such a soft hearted person. Caring, but a pushover. Lance was there to stand up for him when no one else would, and all out of kindness. And that aspect - including many more - was why Keith liked him so much. Hated him, but liked him. Catching a glimpse at the aforementioned ghost boy, Keith noticed he looked no better than before. Worse, actually. Lance tucked his knees to his chest, his bottom lip trembling. Oh crap.

"When I was alone and lost," Pidge went next, because, apparently, this entire thing had transfigured itself into an emotion spittle feast, and each person was making their rounds to the backstory hors d'oeuvres. Keith half listened as she went on. "he was there for me. Being a new student in fifth grade wasn't easy, especially for, well, a person like me." Pidge vaguely motioned to body, referring to herself being a trans girl. "In this crazy neighborhood, he was the first to accept me. But, he didn't care about my 'uniqueness', he liked me for me, and how could I ask for more? He was the best friend I've ever had, and I would do anything to bring him back." She paused, and took a deep, shaky breath. "Sometimes I wish it could've been me. I mean... Lance saved my life! Reminded me I did matter, no matter what the others said or did. Lance never once giving up on me. If only... If only I could've repay him. He did so much for all of us, but me? I should've appreciated him more. I - I should've-"

Allura stood, and raced to Pidge's side. Taking a handkerchief from her purse, Allura wiped away a streak of water that had fallen under Pidge's thick, round glasses. Sniffing, Pidge said, "I'm fine, really. I've cried enough already, It's time for me to be strong - for Lance."

"For Lance." Allura agreed, giving her friend a reassuring smile.

Keith heard another sniff, but it wasn't from Pidge, or any of the others. It was from Lance, and Keith - the only one able to hear it - felt his heart sink. Lance was crying. Actually crying. Keith watched as a transparent drop of water slid from Lance's contracted pupils, down his cheek, and to the ground below. It vanished the moment it touched the hardwood, leaving no trace of Lance's fleeting stability.

This meeting was too soon, and too much. Lance needed time to recover after his own funeral. Though he was laughing during it, and seemed to be having fun, Keith knew better. Sometimes hell isn't fire and demons, but a different kind of torture. Torture was dangling hope and love by a string, bating the victim to pounce. But, as the prize reaches moments from their grasp, it's yanked away. And what's worse, Lance didn't deserve all the crap he was being put through. Keith maybe, but Lance? That was the cruelest joke he had ever heard.

Pidge turned to Hunk, who had his knuckles balled on his knees. When he saw the attention redirected at him, he pointed to himself and made an O shape with his mouth. "My turn?" He asked. "Well, I've known Lance for, like, ever. We practically grew up together! We're like... brothers. Wherever he went, I followed, always ready to back him up. And, well... when I was at my lowest point, feeling like crud about myself and my body, he assured me I was just fine the way I was. So, like, he was my best friend, and - and -" His voice became squeaky. This obviously made him extremely upset.

This time, it was Pidge to rush to his side. She wrapped her short, skinny arms as far around Hunk's rounded belly as she could manage. Allura joined her, wrapping her arms around his arm on the other side of where Pidge sat. And, as a stream of tears fell from his face, both Shiro and Coran joined them, placing a hand on Hunk's shoulder from behind. "It's ok to cry." Shiro assured, tightening his grip on Hunk's shoulder.

"I think we should stop." Keith snapped, unintentional anger seeping through. Everyone fell silent and turned to him. Keith attempted to present himself calmer, but, being Keith, he didn't do well with softness. "I'm sorry, it's just... I don't need this right now, ok." And, by himself, he of course meant Lance.

Everyone looked expectedly dumbfounded, but especially Lance. His face was red, puffy, and surprisingly alive. Keith was about to grab his hand, and pull him to safety, when he remembered he couldn't.

"Lance, that's -" Shiro let his broad shoulders sag. "Yes, I understand. I see you... need some time for yourself."

Keith said nothing, but his expression was clear. He agreed. Keith promised himself not to cry. He couldn't. Not here, not now. Especially with Lance there to witness it. It seemed wrong. Hypocritical even.

Hunk ran his palm across his cheek, and shooed the others off. "I'm sorry, Keith..." He uttered, averting his gaze to the floor. "I didn't mean to make you upset."

"No, it's not you!" Keith protested, his fists clutching the sides of his baggy, red sweater. "I'm - I'm sorry. I thought I was ready, but I wasn't. I just -" He risked meeting eyes with Lance. "I need some more time to figure this out."

***

"This is stupid." Keith complained after the others left.

He wasn't addressing anyone in particular when he said it, but Lance responded despite. "This is useless." His body changed from a blue hue to a red glow. Keith noticed Lance's ghostly form shifted drastically depending on his emotions, and right now he wasn't feeling too pleased.

"Look, it's ok." Keith crossed his arms, and glanced down at his feet. "We'll figure this out somehow, just... hang in there."

Lance's color dimmed some. He maneuvered his legs back so he was floating with his back to the ceiling. Keith had to crane his neck to see him properly. Jeez, was this what it felt like to be short? Keith wondered why Pidge didn't own a neck brace or some crap. "Whatever, just - I need to be alone." Lance asserted, drifting backwards through the roof. The next minute he was immediately materialized back to Keith's side with a pout on his face. "Screw these dumb, ghost rules!" He yelled to the air, "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"You didn't do anything, it's just- we'll figure this out."

"And how the hell are we supposed to do that?" Lance snapped.

Keith was glad he was no longer crying, but fighting wasn't the best runner up . "I don't know... There has to be some people who know about ghosts and shit. Physics? The cast of Ghost Hunters?"

"Dude, first off: that show is fake, and secondly: 99% of all people who call themselves 'physics' are bullshit. Plus, it's not like we know any -" Lance paused, his skin emitting a light yellow glow.

Keith raised a brow. "Think of someone?"

"No, no, it's just... No, it can't be. Just, ignore that."

"Ok... Well, since you're feeling better, I'll head to bed."

"Bed? Why?"

At first, Keith thought he was kidding, but then he remembered his extraordinary circumstance. "It's like, almost eleven. I have class tomorrow, I can't skip... again."

"Eleven?!" Lance's head perked up, and snapped back to look out one of the windows. "Already? But I thought it was morning!"

"Well, your instincts were off. Now, if you excuse me, I need to take a shower, before I turn into an even bigger, smeller turd."

"You already are a turd, but it's not like I can leave your side, so you'll just have to deal with me waiting outside the curtain."

At this, Keith winced. He suddenly remembered one crucial, unnerving, undeniable fact about his mangy, humble abode. His showers were glass.

***

Fumbling his confidence   
And wondering why the world has passed him by   
Hoping that he's bent for more than arguments   
And failed attempts to fly

~Switchfoot / Meant To Live

***

Keith walked to class.

During this mind bore of a chore, he wasn't focused on the teacher, or anything else really. His mind thirst for answers, and, more importantly, how he could get them. Lance drifted back and forth around the classroom, his face slack with boredom. Keith's eyes tried not to follow the ghost boy as he did flips and seemingly impossible gymnastic positions midair, in favor of not looking like an insane asylum patient. For some reason, Lance's newly found condition granted him the blessing of inhuman flexibility. It was insane! Like watching fingers turn into hands, and those hands growing hands, and so on. Keith watched a lot of weird internet shit.

Pidge was also in his class. She sat beside Keith, shoulders slumped over her work, and cheek in her palm. Though she was smart - the smartest person Keith knew - Pidge looked drained. Her eyelids were halfway closed behind her thick four frames. She looked ready to die. He could relate. But, honestly, Keith didn't want to deal with another dead person. He was going crazy as was.

The professor, Mrs. Glenn - or Mrs. douche as Lance preferred - lifted a pointer from her desk, and slammed it against the board. Keith, Pidge, Lance, and the rest of the students jumped to attention. "Wake up, all of you!" She demanded, old, wrinkled face balled and red in anger. Her bright, bright, bright blond dye nearly blinded Keith whenever he glanced her way. Not to mention the volume her hair possessed. It was about half, no, two thirds her own height, and that was saying something. "Who am I teaching? A bunch of sloths?"

Keith and Pidge shared a look. Glenn was generally snappy, but this was at a whole other level. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." Pidge whispered, leaning her chin on the books in front of her. She had dark eye bags and furrowed, light brown brows. She likely felt ten times as bad as she looked. Again, Keith could relate, but in a different sense. Instead of missing Lance's presence - as this was one of the classes they used to share - Keith missed Lance's former presence. Before he was doing gravity defying splits, or moving his hand in and out of Mrs. Glenn's monstrous poof. "You think one of her cats died?" Pidge asked, looking foreword.

"How do you know she has cats?"

"What? Never seen her Facebook? Gathering information on people is like, my existence. That and computers, but they sort of coincide." She shrugged. "If you ever need blackmail, just remember: I'm yah girl." She clicked her tongue, and pointed finger guns in Keith's direction. A very Lance-like gesture, which distorted Pidge's grin into a frown.

"Blackmail? On Mrs. Glenn?"

"Oh, you don't even know." Pidge's mouth - once again - changed into a devilish smirk.

"What sort of blackmail?" Keith lowered his voice.

"Ever seen a fat, elderly woman in riskay positions, wearing lacy lingerie?"

Keith gaged at the mental image. "Ew, no."

"Well, let's just say for a few good months I had the burning desire to cleanse my eyeballs out with bleach. It was a dark time. I still get nightmares."

Keith's tongue stuck out, trying to get the bad taste from his mouth. Mrs. Glenn - the greasy skinned, eye sore of a hairdo, old, and snippy teacher, posed in less than family friendly positions, exposing her womanhood for all to see. Well, it likely wasn't for everyone's prying eyes, but, somehow, Pidge managed to snag them. And that was scary. Pidge was scary. Keith didn't want to know how, when, or why. All he wanted was for someone to scrub the grotesque picture from his brain. And he thought Mrs. Glenn looked hideous fully clothed! Damn, Keith almost felt bad for her. He couldn't imagine the embarrassment which would come with others finding the photos. Pidge was a sadistic, evil genius.

"Sometimes," Keith said, "you scare me."

Up front, Mrs. Glenn gave another smack against the board. "What did I just say? I see you two in the back! Shut up, before I'm forced to kick you out."

Keith and Pidge's heads snapped foreword. They sunk farther back into their chairs. "Sometimes," Pidge added, "she scares me."

After another second of disapproving glares, Mrs. Glenn went back to teaching... whatever she was teaching. Honestly, all Keith heard were her annoying tongue clicks after every sentence. Logic, logic, click! Babble, babble, click! Nag, nag, click! Damn, how he longed to yank that woman's tongue from her throat, and jam it into a paper shredder. It was weird... Everything made Keith mad today.

Lance flew over to Keith's side, passing through many people and objects on the way. As he did, Keith saw the other students shiver, the hairs on their arms standing on end. "Yo, Mrs. Glenn has a major wedge. It's actually pretty disgusting."

Keith opened his mouth, but closed it promptly, remembering his... situation. With the briefest glance in Pidge's direction, Keith tried to keep his focus on the lesson. It was difficult.

With a frown, Lance continued, "Look, I know you can't talk to me in public, or whatever, but hear me out." Lance pointed to Mrs. Glenn. "Wait for her to turn, then look at her pants."

Keith narrowed his eyes. When Mrs. Glenn turned to the board, he got a good, clear shot of the back of her light brown slacks. And, as Lance forenamed, there it was. A wedge which transcended all wedges. The line dividing one cheek from the other was deep, dark, and long. Keith's fist flew to his mouth to try and not gag. Pulling out a sheet of notebook paper from beneath his books, he hastily scribbled: 'Gross! She looks naked.'

"That's nothing compared to what else I found!" Lance exclaimed, drifted to Keith's ear, and whispered like people could hear their conversation. "Did you know she keeps pictures of cats in her drawer?"

Keith snorted, then covered his nose and mouth beneath his palm. Pidge turned and raised a brow. Keith waved a hand in the air dismissively, causing Pidge to shrug and look away.

"I also found a few pages of Taylor Swift lyrics angrily written in red sharpie, and stapled to photos of her ex husband." Lance sucked in his breath. "It was scary. Some of the pictures had burn marks and knife stab wounds."

Keith let out another laugh, louder than before. It was a little thing, but enough that it garnered a handful of student's attention. Keith sunk back in his chair, praying to all things holy Mrs. Glenn hadn't heard him. She seemed to not have, which was fortunate. But, seriously. Lance needed to stop making him laugh. It was Lance's specialty, but Keith of all people wasn't the type to crack a smile at his antics. But, for some reason, today was the day that changed. It was odd. He felt both depressed, and giddy all at once. Pidge, once again, gave him another questioning glare. "Thinking of something funny." Keith whispered the phony excuse.

When all eyes were off him, Keith bent over his piece of paper, and twirled his red inked pen between his thumb and forefinger before printing: 'You need to stop before you get me in trouble.'

"What? Why? Making you laugh? But I'm just saying the truth." Lance protested, drifting his gas-like body backward. "I mean, you should have seen it. 'Cause, baby, now we got bad blood." He began to sing in the most atrocious, out of key voice Keith's ears ever had the displeasure of beholding. "You know it used to be mad love. So take a look what you've done. 'Cause, baby, now we got bad blood. Hey!" On hey, he raised his voice, and threw his hands up for that extra little pizzazz. He mimed a hair flip to imitate Mrs. Glenn's massive hair volume. Keith burst out laughing.

It was no single ha, nor a hushed chuckle. This chortle was big, grand, and noticeable. Everyone turned. A select few even joined in. Mrs. Glenn was not one of those people.

The saggy skin around Mrs. Glenn's face tightened into a scowl. "Mr. Kogane! Would you care to inform everyone what is so funny?"

"Ohhhh. Baby, now you got bad blood." Lance snickered.

"Nothing! I - it's!" Keith flashed a dirty look in Lance's direction before continuing, "I was thinking of something funny."

Mrs. Glenn let out a noise that could've been described as anything close to a snarl. With another click of her tongue, she turned her attention back to the board, exposing the... Grand Canyon running down the length of her pants. Embarrassed, Keith dropped his chin to the table, his shoulders drawn to his cheeks. He wanted to disappear. From beside him, Pidge stated rather bluntly, "Dude, you're seriously wack today."

"You're wack for using the word wack." Keith hissed back. He stared at the wooden desk and papers in front of him so Lance wasn't in his line of sight. He wanted to strangle that damn ghost boy.

"You were even wackier yesterday at that little... gathering." Pidge frowned, concern prevalent in her tone. "If you want to talk about anything -"

"I'm fine!" Keith assured in a snappy whisper-shout. Even he didn't believe himself. "Just... Tired."

Pidge adjusted the glasses on brim of her nose. With the way Pidge's skin scrunched between her eyebrows and the grimace she sported, Keith's keen deductive reasoning saw she was not satisfied with the lackluster answer. "Seriously, you can't keep pushing us away forever. First the 'I see dead people' spiel, then this spontaneous laughter. Face it, you're out of your fucking mind."

Keith wasn't sure if he should've be offended, or angry. Currently, he was both. Lance drifted in every direction around the two, and watched attentively with his torso halfway inside Pidge's desk. Ignoring the childish phantom, Keith said, "You're over analyzing things."

Pidge raised a brow. "Am I?" She sighed. "Look, just call us, ok. If you like, want to talk or shit. Oh! And that reminds me. Did you know Hunk got a new phone?"

"Um, no. Did he finally switch from his crappy Samsung?"

"Yap." Pidge nodded. "Android."

"Ugh!" Keith sneered. "Even worse."

Pidge rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Complain, complain, complain. All you Apple cock suckers are the same."

"Apple is the best phone!" Keith squeaked, forgetting to keep his voice down. Lance cackled hysterically, clutching his stomach. Yeah, laugh it up, Blackberry.

"He got a new number. Do you have your phone?"

Keith scratched the back of his neck, and shook his head. His long, jet black hair stuck to his sweaty skin. Maybe he shouldn't have worn all black on a ninety degree Texan day. One would assumed his body would be accustomed to it by now, but apparently not. "Left it back at home."

"Dude, seriously? Who forgets their phone nowadays? It's like, another appendage! No, no. The vessel for the user's soul. Like that Madoka Magica crap. You gotta get with the twenty first century, caveman."

"Whatever. Maybe you juveniles should look up from your technology once and awhile, and appreciate real human interaction."

"Ha! You, giving advise on human interaction?" Lance scoffed. "Yeah, sure loner."

Pidge reached into her binder, and wrote a number - Hunk's number - across the page in a neat, green print. The way her letters curved in some areas, and made sharp points in others fascinated Keith. Pidge wrote words in ways that no other human would consider writing them, but it somehow worked. Better than Lance's scribbly text, that was for sure.

Keith took the paper, and folded it without a glance. He shoved it into his jean pocket, and wondered when he was going to use it. Besides when it was necessary, Keith didn't do calls, or texts for that matter. He preferred less... complicated pleasures during his off time. Things such as music or art. They required no strategic thinking - in Keith's opinion - and no set of long, complicated rules. Music and art were crafted with feeling. Talking, that was a chore. Most of the time.

On certain occasions - rare occasions - thoughts came easily, which translated into comprehensible conversations. But only with a certain number of people. His friends, Hunk, Pidge, Allura, and Shiro to name a few. Especially Shiro, who was like a brother to him. And Lance - though he hated to say it - was fun to speak with. Well, that was if his insides weren't in a flustered state of disgusting gooiness. Seriously, Lance needed to stop being so fucking hot and loveable at the same time. Keith's limited brain storage couldn't process that amount of contradicting input without spontaneously combusting.

The rest of the class went by uneventfully. Well, if one describes attending a college course with a hyperactive ghost flinging themselves every which way uneventful. Luckily, Keith had no more outbursts due to Lance's antics, though his body was tempted many times. When the two boys got away from the class and into a secluded area of the school, Keith was able to clear his mind. School work was not a priority. What was, was his and Lance's little issue. One: no one could see Lance but Keith. Two: Lance couldn't interact physically with people or objects if others were present. Three: Lance couldn't leave Keith's side. And four: All his friends believed Keith was going crazy. And, hell, maybe he was. Crazy people didn't know they were crazy, so who was Keith to say otherwise?

"Do you think an ouija board will work?" Keith asked, his voice far away. "I saw it on some YouTube videos and crap."

"Those people are liars." Lance huffed. "They only fake those stupid videos to get more views and junk. I bet 99.99% of that YouTube pooie isn't real."

"Worth a try."

"Ugh." Lance groaned. "Please no. I don't want to stoop to actual ghost level craziness."

"You're already at ghost level craziness. You can fly, and phase through stuff."

"Yeah, but using an ouija board is just rubbing it in my face."

Keith sighed. He fiddled for his earbuds, but remembered he left them at home. God, he really was out of it. He used to never leave home without his music, but here he was. He was too distracted with all the supernatural mumbo jumbo to recognize his own needs. Pidge was right, phones really were a container for the soul. Was that the answer? Was Lance here with him because his soul was unsatisfied with the vessel it was given in its life? Keith couldn't blame it. Having a flip phone was torture in of itself.

Speaking of which, Hunk's number. Keith hadn't yet read it.

Keith's mind was forming an ingenious plan. One better suited for a person such as Pidge, aka: clever. Keith's hand shuffled through his pocket, and forcefully - a bit too forcefully - yanked the number out. Lance looked at him curiously, the blue in his eyes shifting in and out of sight. When Keith shoved the paper in his face, he drew back. "What you want me to do with that?" Lance asked, his eyes squinted.

"Read it." Keith said ominously.

"Um... why?"

"You'll see. Just take it."

Begrudgingly, Lance took the paper and brought it to his line of sight. "Nine, seven -"

"No, no! Don't read it aloud! Just, in your head. Memorize it."

Lance frowned, but obliged. He scanned over the number a few times, then gave it back to Keith. Without a glance, he stuffed it into the cramped space known as his pocket. "Now we need a phone." He mumbled to himself, glancing across the campus until he came to a plausible candidate. "There!" He exclaimed, pointing in the direction of an ancient looking telephone box. It was tall, red, and surrounded by small glass panes. It looked like something straight out of Great Britain. Well, at least on tv. Keith, of course, hadn't been there himself. He didn't own an applicable passport.

"What? You want me to dial the number into that Doctor Who looking contraption?"

"First off: the tardis is blue, not red, and secondly: yes, I do want you to call Hunk."

"And this will prove what?" Lance asked.

"It will prove that I'm not crazy, and you're not a fragment of my self consciousness. I've never read that number, so therefore it's impossible for me to call Hunk. But you have read it, and if you do call the number, then you're real."

"You're doubting my legitimacy? Wow, I'm offended."

"You can be hurt later. We need to try it before this place becomes too crowded."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going." Lance heaved a groan before drifting to the phone box. Inside, he struggled with the old fashioned dial device. Keith, who stood just outside the door, had to walk him through it. With the help of a spare quarter from Keith's jacket pocket, Lance was successful, and they both waited patiently for someone to pick up. Preferably Hunk, but who was to know. The box buzzed twice before a satisfying click was heard.

"Hello?" A muffled voice was heard from the other end of the line. Both Keith and Lance looked at each other, their eyes wide. It was Hunk!

Lance fumbled with the speaker in his hand, then turned to Keith for help. He mouthed something Lance interpreted as, say something, so he did. "Um... Hi."

There was a pause, which sent Keith's heart pounding. Finally Hunk responded with, "Sorry, your voice is a little... um... deep. Who is this?"

Lance let out a gasp, and looked just as astounded as Keith felt. Hunk heard him! Keith wasn't expecting it, but he genuinely could! "Say something else." Keith whispered, hoping the speaker hadn't picked up his voice.

"Uh... This is... um... Pizza Hut."

Keith's hand smacked his forehead. Lance shrugged.

"Did you say... Pizza Hut? Really? New number? Different location? You don't sound familiar."

"Yes, new employee, yeah."

"I'm sorry, it's just... You're hard to understand."

"In what way?" Lance made sure to slowly and loudly pronounce each syllable.

"Well, there's a lot of static, and your voice is muffled and deep. Like, really deep. And echoed. I don't know. Is there something wrong with the phone?"

Lance hung up. His hand shook as he brought it up to his hair, and dragged his fingers across his scalp. His expression was petrified. "He heard me..."

"Yeah..." Keith confirmed.

"What now?"

***

So a day when you've lost yourself completely  
Could be a night when your life ends  
Such a heart that will lead you to deceiving  
All the pain held in your  
Hands are shaking cold  
Your hands are mine to hold

~All American Rejects / Move Along

***

Lance's family was pretty insane.

Twelve kids in nine years was not an easy feat by any means, but Alice McClain - a goddess upon this world - managed. Lance could never guess what compelled his mother to have so many children. She was stressed constantly, but still willing to spread her love equally across each of her children. Being the youngest child, it was rare to see his mother in a state of ease. Life had worn her down, turning her hair gray, and lining her face with wrinkles deep and creasing. Having her first kid at the young age of fifteen, Lance could see why. She never had the opportunity to be a normal teen. She never had the opportunity to be her own person.

Penelope was first, and Mrs. McClain loved her like nothing else. She had gorgeous, straight, brown hair, and caramel skin, which was dotted with a unique assortment of freckles - angel kisses, as Mrs. McClain called them.

When Penelope cried, Mrs. McClain held her close, and hummed sweet songs in her ear. She swore to the heavens, the spirits, and all things holy that Penelope was going to have a life unlike hers. A good life, full of opportunity and love. And though money was tight, Mrs. McClain put her child's needs before her own. Sometimes she went days - weeks - without a proper meal, but Penelope - o, Penelope - Alice made sure she was fed.

At night, Mrs. McClain cried silently in her bed, her hunger consuming her. But, when morning came, Mrs. McClain never forgot to put on a smile. Because that was what Penelope wanted. No, that was what she needed.

Rio was born next. A beautiful, light skinned baby boy. Unlike Penelope, his brown hair curled in crazy loops above his head, and freckled cheeks shone a rosy shade of pink. His smile was infectious, and both Penelope and Mrs. McClain fell in love instantly.

Months later, a fantastic phenomenon beyond Mrs. McClain's wildest imaginations took place. A healthy set of twins, Jason and Jill respectively, blessed the world with their creation.

Though she was over thrilled, and wouldn't change her children for the world, Mrs. McClain cried with the extra level of responsibility she was burdened with. With her husband - twenty eight at the time - gone for work the majority of the day, it was both Mrs. McClain's duty to provide and support their family. Sometimes she had to bring her kids with her to the houses she cleaned. This did not please her bosses in any way, and she was eventually fired from more than half her regular appointments. Still, she kept her kids clothed, fed, and happy. Against all odds, she managed.

The next year - the year she became a true adult at eighteen - her cousin Chloe moved in, providing watch over the kids in exchange for a place to live. With great gratitude, Mrs. McClain decided to name her and Mr. McClain's next child Cleo on her behalf. A cheery, round faced baby girl, with deep blue eyes, and wavy black hair. And, of course, she turned out to be cousin Chloe's absolute favorite.

Many stress filled nights later, another set of unplanned twins arrived. Dan and Finn, a rambunctious duo, who - though she loved immensely - was a pain in the ass to control. On multiple occasions Chloe was forced to place the two in a big cardboard box known as the 'timeout box' to keep them from running into oncoming traffic, or eating a dead something or other. But, as expected, they managed to find a way out. A sneaky pair of trouble twins they were, even before they learned to walk.

Subsequently after that run of good luck, Mrs. McClain was hit with not one, not two, but three healthy baby girls. Calla, Cindy, and Candy were their names, and lordy, were they ever a handful. Chloe along with Penelope - who was still very young at the time - did their best to give Mrs. McClain a helping hand. But, with ten kids running around, it wasn't easy. Still, the triplets were beyond a joy, though they were so different. Personality wise and appearance wise. Most couldn't make the connection they were triplets, or even sisters. They were a real wonder, as were all the McClain kids.

Then came Nico, and... well, from the beginning he had a... peculiar presence. He never laughed nor cried, simply laid silently in his crib. His brown eyes were always trained on someone intensely. For a baby, he made a lot of people antsy with his scowl. Most didn't know babies had the ability to scowl, but Nico proved them otherwise. The second one caught sight of the unholy atrocity known as Nico's expression, there was no denying it. Nico was sporting a scowl, wordlessly judging everyone and everything that moved, breathed, or was. He was Mr. McClain's least favorite, but Mrs. McClain loved him all the same. There were no favorites in her heart. Only love, love, and more love.

But the last child, aka: the most important child, outdid all his other siblings by a landslide. The best, the boss, the coolest, sharpest, handsomest being to ever be. Some called him a knight, others the king. He had many titles. A cool, ninja, sharpshooter as he called himself. But others - others such as the dumb, emo Keith - had other, less pleasant ways of addressing him. Idiot, goofball. All untrue, of course. For Lance was a gift, a grace, a god. A mistake created when too many good traits got combined, and formed the picture of perfection. Yes, there was Lance. And thus, everyone was appeased.

And Lance loved his mother. More than anything, Lance loved her in every way and shape imaginable. And she loved him in return, because that's what parents did. Well, proper parents. Lance never much cared for Mr. McClain, nor did he ever bother to call him Dad. He didn't deserve that title, and he sure as hell didn't deserve Alice McClain. The only reason he bared to stay under the same roof as that asshole was because his mother loved him. Against all rhyme or reason she did, and Lance wanted nothing to do with tearing that away from her. Because a sad Mrs. McClain was the worst kind of Mrs. McClain.

So, even in the dreariest of situations with little to no hope, Lance joked. He joked because that brightened his mother's smile, and sent a shimmer in her eye. Even on his deathbed, he laughed. And she did too. Because that was what they did, him and his mom. Laugh. Laugh through the hunger, laugh through the pain, laugh through life itself. Because, as a wise one once said, laughter is the best medicine.

Holding tight to his mother's hand, Lance told stories of his past and childhood. Mrs. McClain listened, the whole of her immersed in the tale. Lance said a line about him tripping over his own feet and landing face first into the water, chuckling all the while. Mrs. McClain giggled as well. Her black curls bounced around her round face, the crookedness of her teeth on display.

As Lance tightened his grip in his mother's hand, he felt his already weak bones dwindling in strength. He was slipping away. Though his vision blurred, and black dots formed around his mother's face, Lance was determined to finish the story. He needed to. If he went away, who would be left to tell her how it ended?

So he continued, his voice lessening in volume with every word. Mrs. McClain's eyes grew big and round as she felt coldness radiate from her son's rough skin. But he continued, and he continued, and he continued until the story was told, and nothing was left to say.

Lance closed his eyes, and relaxed his shoulders. When his hand slipped from Mrs. McClain's, she called out to him, "Lance! Lance!" The syllables tripped, and stumbled over one another. She reached her palm out, gently touched the skin of his cheek, and shed a tear. "hijo mío." Her bottom lip trembled as realization sunk in like an edged knife.

Lance was dead.

Mrs. McClain screamed.


	4. Vol. 4

But somewhere there's a light  
A sign that it's alright  
I find it by your side

~The Heydaze / New Religion

***

Life and death wasn't as clear cut as Keith believed.

This fact was especially prevalent with Keith's newfound... circumstances. Not only was he living with a ghost - his dead childhood friend no less - but others could hear him. Well, not directly, nor easily, but it was an indisputable fact. What to do with this newly acquired knowledge, Keith had no idea.

Keith paced back and forth across the bedroom, his earbuds blasting music, and fingers drumming anxiously against his biceps. Lance's gaze followed his movements from the corner of the room. The left half of his body was hidden behind the chipped wallpaper. An irritating habit that rattled Keith's bones on more than one occasion. Though the ghost wasn't scary as maybe he should have been, his inhuman habits weren't capable of ignoring. Despite, Keith tried, and continued weathering a dip in the hardwood with his steps.

"So... Are you going to say something, or are you just gonna keep trotting around like a drowsy pony?" Lance asked, his color changing from a blue hue, to a yellow one, and back to blue. Keith was curious what each shade told him about the ghost boy's state of mind.

"Well, what do you suggest, your majesty?" Keith rolled his eyes.

Lance's mouth shut into a thin line. He averted his eyes when he said, "I'm not sure."

"Me neither." Keith admitted.

In all honestly, Keith was at a loss. He wanted to show the people Lance cared about that he was still among them in some... odd fashion, but with the recent slip during his previous attempt, he held doubts. Yes, Lance could've explained it was him over the phone with Hunk, but who was Keith to say how Hunk or the others would react? Among the many terrible possibilities he had piled in his head, there was the chance they would take it as some cruel prank. And, in their current mental state, they didn't need another thing to upset them.

"I say we wait." Lance spoke up. He shifted his figure from the wall, much to Keith's relief.

Keith hated to say it - like, really did - but Lance was right. Until they gathered a better understanding of things, there was no use in jumping head first into the unknown. "Ok."

Keith's phone buzzed. He looked down at the contact, and promptly picked up. Lance watched impatiently as Keith listened through his earbuds, and tilted the phone back to talk into it. "Hi?" Keith greeted Shiro. It was odd for him to call at such a time.

"Hey, Keith. I just got an invite for a party, and I was wondering if you could come."

"Party? A college party? That doesn't sound very Shiro-like."

"It's not a college party, it's a dinner party."

"Oh, that makes more sense. Who's hosting it?"

Shiro hesitated for a moment. "The McClains. They're having a family reunion in honor of Lance, and they wanted to invite his closest friends."

Keith fell silent, and turned to look at Lance directly. The ghost boy raised a brow, confused. Keith filled him in by saying, "A dinner party with the McClains? When is it?"

"Christmas." Shiro answered. "If you don't have any plans, they would be delighted if you came."

Keith found it dryly humorous that Shiro would imply Keith's possible plans for Christmas. Who did Shiro he think he was? A person with a loving family, money to travel, and the ability to prepare an edible holiday feast? Hilarious.

"Yeah, ok, I'll think about it."

"Good, and I hope you feel better." Shiro concluded, and hung up. Keith's hand fell loosely to his side.

"Who was that?" Lance asked.

"Shiro. Your family is holding a Christmas dinner."

"Oh..." Lance's thin eyebrows pinched. "Are you - we - going?"

"If you want to, I guess."

Lance opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind mid breath, and shut it. Keith took a single bud from his ear, and checked the time on his superior Apple iPhone. It read eleven thirty. Keith blinked his dreary eyes, his consciousness on the verge of collapse. Previously, with all the stress he caused himself by over analyzing things, Keith had no time to worry about his fatigue. He sucked in an airy breath, announced, "I'm going to bed." and followed through by toppling face-first onto his covers. With the last of his strength, he lifted himself up, and shuffled beneath his blanket, letting his pale cheek nuzzle against his thin pillow.

Lance looked at him and frowned. "You're sleeping with your clothes on?"

With a grumble, Keith unbuckled his belt, and slid his jeans off from below the covers. He still had boxers on, but the action was enough to make Lance glow a dark shade of crimson. Afterwards, Keith weakly threw his discarded jeans from his bed to the ground. He did the same with his jacket, creating a pile of fabric on his already cluttered bedroom floor. "Happy now?" He asked groggily, only his plain black t and underwear remaining.

With a huff, Lance turned his attention to the blank wall opposite of Keith. "Jeez. Living people sleep constantly! Like, seriously. Was I this dull when I was alive? Nighttime is so boring!" He moaned, not an ounce of sluggishness in his voice. That was another annoying aspect about ghosts. They never slept.

"Well, why don't you try sleeping then, ghost boy?" Keith threw the suggestion out there, which caused Lance to scratch his chin as though it wasn't an obvious conclusion.

"I don't know... What's the point? It's not like I'm tired."

"Well, you said you were bored anyway. Why don't you try dreaming or some shit."

"I don't like dreams. They only exist to scare me or make me guilty."

"Or turn you on."

"Those are the guilty ones!" Lance complained, the words slipping from his lips before he had time to reconsider them.

Keith smirked to himself, his face hidden from Lance's sight atop his pillow. "Well, what are your other options? Creepily staring at me until I wake?"

Lance paused, the sides of his mouth pointed downward. "Whatever. I guess I'll try." He closed his eyes, and leaned back mid-hover. Keith watched as he took a breath in through his nose, and relaxed his bony shoulders. The peaceful moment was cut short however when the ghost boy's eyelids flicked open irritably. Narrowing his gaze at Keith, he said abruptly, "This is stupid."

"You gave up after ten seconds! Try again, and don't open your eyes until I say you can." The command felt odd on Keith's tongue. It was as though he was teaching an old dog an old trick. A floating, talking, dead dog.

With a growl - much like a dog's, Keith noted - Lance's eyelids pinched shut. This time he didn't bother to lean back, opting instead to sit midair like a Buddhist statue. After a moment of waiting to make sure Lance wasn't looking, Keith leaned from the bed, and snatched his discarded pants from the floor. Quietly - as quietly as humanly possible - Keith took his letter from the pocket, and unfolded it under the covers.

Tossing the jeans back where the were, Keith ran a thumb over the crinkled pages. The letter consisted of two papers stapled together at the corner, and the contents of Lance's last words addressed to Keith before he died. Though it was old, Keith noticed its distinct, Lance-like scent. The living Lance. It contained all the liveliness his old friend possessed. Keith wanted to sniff it, but concluded that was next level creepy, so didn't. But what he did do is read and reread his favorite paragraph until it was seared into his brain.

'You held me in you arms, and pulled me close. I remember thinking as though it was the safest I've ever felt.'

'I want to kiss you now.'

Keith wanted to kiss Lance too - oh so desperately - but snapped back to reality and reminded himself: you can't fall for the dead. If you do, you're only hurting yourself. But Keith had always loved Lance, and he didn't know if he would ever stop. Of course his desires were irrelevant, for all Keith wanted was for Lance to be happy. And intimacy would only bring sorrow, not joy. It was difficult, but Keith had to control himself. For himself, but especially for the one he cared for.

"It's not working!" Lance groaned.

Keith, as fast as lightning, tucked the letter in the only place he could think of - his underpants - and jolted upright. Keith heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Lance's formally shut eyes blink open. Lucky for Keith, he hadn't seen the letter.

"You're sitting crisscross in midair. That's not a traditional sleeping position."

"Well, I'm kinda out of it now. How long have I been flying like this for? I don't even know! It feels like a day and a lifetime. Being a ghost is pretty weird, ok. But sleeping is much weirder. How did I even do it before?"

"Well, first off, you get in a bed." Keith explained. "Or a couch, or floor, or wherever that is connected to the ground."

"Look, flat surfaces don't really work for me anymore. I have the ability to fly, so I fly. Besides, where am I supposed to find a bed?"

Keith raised an eyebrow, and motioned to the spot beside him. To him, the answer seemed obvious, but apparently Lance thought differently. After a moment of sinking in the other's words, Lance's form flashed a bright red. It resembled blaring sirens, which made Keith smirk. He liked being able to easily read Lance's emotions.

"No way, dude!" Lance shook his hands dismissively in front of himself. "Get in bed with you? That's next level gay."

"Lance, you're the one who's next level gay."

"Bi!" Lance retorted, and Keith could tell he instantly regretted it. "Fuck, no, shit. I mean... shut up, mullet!"

"Douche." Keith shot back. "Are you getting in or not?" He pulled back the covers, opening a space for Lance to lay beside him. His bed was queen sized, so it could easily fit two people. Or, in this case, one person and one ghost.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Suit yourself." Keith mumbled. "Wither away from boredom for all I care."

With one last show of rebel, Lance crossed his arms and huffed. But, alas, he eventually crept his way into bed. First he hovered over the mattress, but gradually sunk low enough so he was touching it. His presence was enough to make a small indent, but no shadow loomed. Keith reached for the switch on the wall, and flicked the lights off. Though Keith didn't care either way, Lance was used to sleeping in the darkness.

Lance kept his eyes open, his hands across his belly, and body in a tense, soldier-like position. Keith reached for the corner of the blanket, and draped it over Lance's shoulders. His feet hung out due to his tall stature and lanky limbs. Aggravated, he said, "It's not long enough! My feet are cold."

Keith rolled his eyes. "Pull your knees toward yourself you big baby. And, turn to your side."

Lance begrudgingly obliged, moving himself so that he faced away from Keith. "It's still cold." Lance said in a snappy whisper.

"Do ghost even get cold?"

"This one does."

There was a pause where Keith took time to organize his thoughts. But, before he had time to ask what the hell he was doing, Keith shifted closer to Lance, and wrapped an arm across the other's chest. Keith's skin crawled at every point it came in contact with Lance's. He felt the ghost boy tense under him. "What the hell are you doing?" Lance demanded, biting back a gasp.

Keith lifted his arm, but only slightly. "You want me to stop?"

"N - no, but -" Lance responded, his voice a stuttered mess. "Just... don't move."

"Alright then." Keith whispered as he closed his eyes. His breath brushed against Lance's neck.

Keith noticed Lance felt warmer than normal. More... real. At that moment, Keith forgot the boy next to him was, well, dead. His physical body lying in a coffin somewhere underground. But then the realization came flooding back like a slap to the face. You can't love a dead man, Keith told himself, but tightened his grip anyways, burying his head in the crook of the dead boy's neck.

"Are you seriously going?" Lance breathed, his voice airy, soft, and sweet. Keith would do anything just to keep him talking.

"Going where?"

"To the dinner party." Lance clarified. His hand dragged across the sheet, and ended up moments from Keith's dangling fingers. Keith wanted to hold his hand, but held back.

"Are you scared?" Keith asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

"About what?"

"I - I'm not sure. My family, I guess. My mom. My brothers and sisters. They're all probably going to be there, so... you know. I don't know how they're doing now. Some I haven't seen in over a year." Lance shrugged - a hard task in their current position.

"Didn't you visit them during the funeral?"

"Only a glance." Lance lowered his voice. His arms trembled. "I couldn't bare the looks on their faces. Especially Ma. I hate seeing her upset. I thought all the costumes and things I wrote would make her laugh, but I was wrong. Maybe laughter really can't fix everything."

"You finally realized?"

Lance huffed. "You know you love my jokes."

"Mmh, yeah, keep wishing."

Keith felt Lance shift in his arms. When he blinked awake, he saw Lance's closed eyelids and long lashes; his sharp nose; his assortment of freckles and blemishes which dotted his complexion - the sort of which Keith adored; and Lance's lips so close to his - too close. Keith sucked in his breath, his mind gearing into overdrive.

Lance placed one palm under his cheek, and another around Keith's waist. Their foreheads met, and Keith couldn't bring himself to stop staring. His fatigue was suddenly nonexistent, and all he wanted was to keep watching the boy - the real feeling boy - in front of him. "Tell me about your family." Keith said, desperate to hear his voice.

Lance's mouth snaked into a grin. "What do you wanna know?"

"Everything."

So Lance told him everything. Well, most everything. He spoke of stories of the beach and the ocean. His visits to the aquarium when he was small. Each and every sibling's quirks and personalities. The way his mother smiled, and the smell of her home-cooked meals. Eventually, the words lost their meaning, and Keith found himself smiling at the sight of how Lance's face lit up when he spoke of the things he loved. At one point Lance asked, "Do you like jellyfish?"

Keith responded with, "Yeah, same here."

***

Why are the things that I want to say  
Just aren't coming out right?  
I'm tripping on words  
You got my head spinning  
I don't know where to go from here

~Lifehouse / You And Me

***

Keith scanned his song selections.

The next day, as well as the ones following, Keith analyzed his songs and their meanings; the story they told with both their sound and lyrics, and picked the ones that stood out the most. Keith wasn't one for words, but he knew a thing or two about music. He wished he could find that one, perfect song to portray his feelings. The way his heart buzzed like an electric shock the moment he touched - or, hell - looked at Lance. But, no matter how long and far he searched, none was quite so powerful. Perhaps the emotion was simply too complex for the English language to comprehend. Music on the other hand; music was universal.

Hiding his phone from Lance's view, Keith checked and double checked his playlist which was labeled, Lance's Funeral. He wasn't sure why, but he couldn't bring himself to title it Lance's playlist, or just Lance, or anything that made a resemblance of sense. He thought back to the day he first found Lance - the dead Lance. They were at his funeral - his absurd funeral - and Keith remembered not knowing how to feel. That's the same way he felt listening to the playlist on repeat. Was is sad? Sweet? Angry? Honestly, it was like that but so much more.

On the way to the Christmas dinner at the McClain's house Keith could feel his hands jittering in his pockets. His thumb ran up and down the side of his phone, adjusting and readjusting the volume of his music. Not only was he supposed to meet Lance's entire family, but he was also being let into their home. Lance's place was sacred. Restricted. It felt wrong. After all the years of being Lance's friend/rival Keith never imagined his first visit to his place panning out in such a way. Walking to his home with a ghost boy on his tail. But not just any ghost boy, no, the one this family was mourning over. Everything inside Keith was screaming: "Turn around now!"

But he continued. He continued down the sidewalk, past homes and stores, and all the way to 452 Sanders Way; aka: the forbidden realm. When he knocked on the door, Mrs. McClain answered with a bright smile. "Ah! Welcome!" She greeted in her thick, Cuban accent. "And you must be... um... Lance's friend?"

"Keith." He stuttered back, looked down at her thick curls and round features, heart stumbling in his chest. "Keith Kogane."

"Ah, yes, of course." She opened the door further, giving enough room for Keith to pass. "Nice to meet you."

Keith entered and Lance followed. The entire time Lance's eyes stayed focused on his mother's, expression unreadable.

Keith immediately noticed something. This house... it was a chaotic hell hole. Kids, teens, adults, and even elders ran from one point of the room to the other, their faces saying they knew where they were going, but their movements suggesting otherwise. Keith couldn't hear a word spoken though most everyone was shouting. All the conversations merged, and therefore drained of understanding.

Keith hated it. He fumbled for his earbuds, put them in, and focused his attention on his laces. If he honed into one, unmoving spot his head would stop spinning... hopefully. He used this tactic many times in crowded areas such as school and the mall. But this? This was nothing like Keith had ever seen. The sheer discord of it all was driving Keith to the brink of shouting. He wanted to get away and quick. All of this was a mistake. He should have never come.

"What's wrong?" Lance asked, floating from Keith's back to front. "You look like you've seen a ghost." He cracked a smile at this, but Keith's gaze stayed trained to his shoes and the music blaring in his ears. He hoped the lyrics would drain the world out, but had no such luck. Of course they didn't. They never could.

When he finally had enough strength to move, Keith pushed past the guests. Short guests, tall guests, thin, and round. It made no difference. They all looked and sounded the same as Keith scrambled to a secluded corner far, far away. When Keith got where he was going, he leaned on the wall, and let out a sigh, his breath hot and shaky. Lance raised an eyebrow at him. "Seriously? The first thing you do when you come to a party is go hide in a corner?"

"Ana on my shoulders and we'll laugh away." Keith mumbled the lyrics blasting in his ears.

"Keith! Can you hear me?" Lance frowned. He reached out to push Keith's arm, but instead phased through. Keith shivered. "Why are you such a loner?"

Keith put a palm in his forehead and closed his eyes. His cheeks burned as the music hollowed. This wasn't reality. I couldn't have been. The chaos was too otherworldly. "Ana hear me, Ana baby, I'm not crazy." Keith continued, ignoring Lance's sour look.

"Keith!" A voice came from the crowd.

When Keith looked up Lance said bitterly, "Oh, so you answer him but not me?"

Shiro and Allura approached Keith, their arms linked and clothes extravagant. Allura wore a mask of glamorous makeup, and Shiro's eyeliner - as always - was on point. Keith - in his baggy jeans, and stained, red hood - blinked dumbly at the two. Taking a single bud from his ear, he attempted to focus on the pair and nothing else. It was difficult. Something familiar usually eased Keith's anxiousness. Not a lot, but it was something. "Hello." The greeting came in a small, sudden burst from the back of Keith's throat.

"I'm so glad you decided to attend!" Shiro grinned his bright, toothy grin. "I was a little worried because, well, you haven't been yourself lately."

"Oh, uh huh." Keith nodded, sporting a plaster smile.

"But, what are you doing by yourself all the way back here?" He placed one hand on his hip, and pulled the other - along with Allura - closer to his side. "I want you to meet someone."

Keith shrunk back, his shoulders providing a protective barrier for his neck. It wasn't as if he could say no. It was Shiro after all. But he really - and he meant really - didn't want to meet anyone new. Despite, he obliged with a nod.

Shiro and Allura smiled, their pearly, white teeth bright enough to blind any untrained eye. Allura snatched Keith's hand, and dragged him foreword. From behind him, Keith saw Lance pout at where their palms touched. Keith's heart pounded as Lance averted his eyes. No, suppress it. Lance is dead. Whatever this is, it doesn't matter now.

The four maneuvered through the busy living room past friends, siblings, aunts, and cousins. Keith knew Lance's family was huge, but he never imagined it being this monstrous. When they finally got where they were headed, Shiro turned back to Keith, and gestured to the family beside him. It consisted of one freckled woman, a redheaded man, and two little girls.

It was obvious which one of the parents were related to Lance. With her brown complexion, and long, straight brown hair, the woman was the perfect picture of a true McClain. She looked so much like Lance, it was scary. Other than the freckles, If she cut her hair and put on some masculine clothes, Keith wasn't sure he could've told them apart. "Hello." The woman said, extending her hand to Keith. "You must be Keith."

"Oh, uh, yes." Keith nodded, awkwardly took the hand and shook it, suddenly self conscious about how dirty his fingerless gloves were.

Keith looked at Lance. The ghost boy seemed to understand what he was trying to ask because he answered with, "That's Penelope, my oldest sister."

"This is Penelope, the McClain's oldest sibling." Shiro answered directly after. "And this is her husband, Fred, and their kids, Kate and Gabrielle."

Keith looked down at the two kids. One of them - the one with black hair - stuck her tongue out. Keith widened his eyes in shock. The younger, redheaded kid looked away, uninterested.

"Sorry about them." Fred's shoulders tensed. His country accented voice was low, and hard to hear over the festivities. "They're a bit tired after the long trip."

Keith nodded, once again unsure of what to say. He hated conversation, especially when he didn't know what to say (which was ninety nine percent of the time).

"So, I hear you're in college." Penelope said, "What major?"

Keith opened his mouth, and was about to speak when a sound interrupted him. A ding rang out across the house, shutting up the rowdy crowd. Everyone turned in the direction of Mrs. McClain who held a musical triangle in her hand. An odd way of getting attention, but an effective one. "Dinner time!" Lance's mother announced in a singsongy fashion.

Keith felt a burden lift his shoulders. A meal was much preferred over mindless wandering through a sea of strangers. "Yay, food!" Lance's ghostly outline shimmered a golden hue. "I hope they have empanadas! Ha, who am I kidding. Of course they have empanadas!"

"Why do you care? You can't eat any of it."

"Um... pardon?" Penelope raised a brow.

Keith's head snapped to Penelope and her family. His face glowed red in embarrassment. "Sorry, just the song I'm listening too." He lied, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. He pointed to the one earbud which was still in place.

"Oh... ok." Penelope responded, her tone polite, but with an underlying touch of disbelief.

Everyone headed to the long, long, long table which held more chairs than Keith had seen in his lifetime. Desk chairs, stools, lawn chairs, an entire assortment of crazy sitting accommodations. Keith assumed most of the guest brought their own seats and food, for he couldn't imagine the McClain household being able to afford such a grand display.

Keith sat down at the very end of the table. He was greeted with the familiar, friendly face of Hunk. "Hey, Keith!" He exclaimed, his eyes sparkled, and mouth drooled. "Look at all this food! Isn't this magical?"

"Yeah, totally." Keith muttered, glancing at the pots and pans scattered across the table. He didn't recognize anything. Granted, he didn't know much aside from fast food and microwave dinners. "What is it?"

"Cuban beef, rice, beans," Lance answered for him, his eyes wider than Hunk's. "picadillo, roasted pork with mojito - oh, and look! Empanadas! Hell to the yes!"

"I have no idea, but it smells delicious!" Hunk grinned, rubbed his round belly, and licked his lips.

When the food was passed around, Keith grabbed only enough to appear polite. Hunk stacked his plate so high he couldn't see over it to the other side of the table. Lance couldn't eat, but he did gush over the food by telling stories of him and his cousins learning and cooking Cuban specialties. Keith liked listening to Lance's stories. It calmed him. And even though he wasn't a fan of the food, at the end of the meal he felt wholeheartedly satisfied.

From the other end of the table, Mrs. McClain heaved onto her chair, triangle in tow. She rang it once, and, once again, everyone fell silent. Lance stared at her, his excitement from earlier stifled. "Welcome guests, and I hope you enjoyed the main course. There is more to eat, but I would like to make a toast."

"That wasn't the end of it?" Hunk whispered, clutching his nearly bursting belly.

Mrs. McClain began talking. Keith looked around. With everyone's attention drawn, it was a good time as any to slip away. "I'm heading to the bathroom." Keith whispered to Hunk, who raised his tired arm to give a thumbs up.

Keith sneaked from his chair, and crept out the dining room to one of the halls. Though he did need to go to the bathroom, Keith mostly wanted some peace and quiet. Because he didn't know where he was going, he asked Lance, "Where's a bathroom around here?"

"Seriously? You had to leave then?" Lance huffed. "I wanted to hear Ma speak."

"Well, sorry. I can't control my pee sack."

Keith halted. Lance followed his gaze. "What? You see another ghost?"

"Um... no." Keith stuttered. "It's nothing. I just - thought I saw someone move."

Lance squinted. The passage they were walking down broke off into another hall that held the bedrooms; three in total. Keith assumed one was for Mrs. and Mr. McClain, but he couldn't imagine how the others fit in the other two. How many siblings did he have again? Twelve? Though they were probably all out of the house now, Keith didn't want to imagine the point where all fourteen of them lived under one roof. Maybe more. Lance did mention a woman named... Chloe, or something like that.

"I don't see anything." Lance frowned. He reached to touch Keith's shoulder and it phased through.

A chill ran down Keith's spine. "You need to stop doing that." He shuddered.

"Someone's watching." Lance turned his head every which way. "I can't touch you."

Keith's heart sank to his shoes. Great, that was exactly what he wanted to hear. Someone spying on him from the shadows. Yeah, not creepy at all. And, to top off the shit stack, the person heard him talking to himself, and doubtlessly deemed him crazy. "Uh... Anyone there?" Keith called, his voice hoarse.

"Besides your ghost buddy?" A voice came from behind.

Keith jumped, and swiveled on the balls of his feet. He was greeted by a brown skinned, freckled face child. At first, Keith didn't recognize who it was, but then remembered back to Lance's funeral. "Hey! You're that brat in the dragon suit."

"Well, yes. But I'm not in my costume anymore, and I'm also not a brat."

Keith crossed his arms. "Yeah, yeah. What do you want, kid?"

"What do you think? I want to talk about your ghost friend."

Keith sighed. He was not a fan of kids. Especially snarky kids such as the urchin before him. "I don't have a ghost friend."

"Then who were you talking to just now?"

"My imaginary friend. There's a difference."

"Somehow I don't believe you." The child placed his hands on his hips, and squinted at the spot directly next to Keith. For one terrifying moment, Keith thought he was meeting Lance's gaze directly. Thankfully he wasn't, and was instead staring at the 'empty' space behind the ghost boy's head.

Keith sighed, - much louder this time - and eyed Lance. "You know this kid?"

Lance shrugged. "I don't think so."

"What? How do you not know one of your own family members?"

"I don't know, dude. You know how far my family tree stretches? It's like a fucking sequoia. Flipping gigantic. Besides, he's probably like a second - third - cousin or something. He does look like a McClain though."

Yeah, that last part was true. There was no denying that this brown skinned, freckled face kid was related to Lance in some form or fashion. How was the question.

"Are you done talking to ghosty?" He asked, cocking his head to one side. Keith couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or was genuinely curious. If the former, he was quite the little acting protégé. "My name's Jordan. And you're Keith, right?"

Keith startled. "How the hell - I mean heck did you know that?"

"I know a lot of things, sir." Jordan puffed his chest out proudly. "And don't worry, you can curse around me. I'm not as young as you might think."

"Oh really? Are you actually ten instead of nine, or some crap - I mean crud?"

Lance let out a snort. Keith shot him a nasty scowl.

"Much older." Jordan huffed. "So, what's your buddy’s name? Do they have a name?"

"It's Lancey Lance," The ghost boy smirked, his ego expanding to an uncomfortable size. "the most handsome, most coolest, most skillful sharpshooter of the universe."

"His names Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe." Keith shot back.

"Hey! No it's not! You better take that back, mullet."

"Sorry, that's a no bueno, sharpshooter. Can't change the past. Already happened.”

"So... He has the same name as Mr. Coran?" Jordan looked confused. "That's weird."

"Yep, it is." Keith agreed.

Lance put a hand to his chest and gasped. "I can't believe how cruel you are!"

"Why, no, Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, I can't ask Ms. Glenn out for you."

Lance gasped even louder. "I'm going to fucking strangle you once we're alone."

"Why, no, Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, I don't think Ms. Glenn is into strangling."

"I swear to - screw you, mullet. Screw. You."

Keith chuckled under his breath, forgetting about their young, fascinated audience. "Whoa! Do you think I could talk to Ghost Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe if I use an... ouija board or something? That's what it's used for, right?"

"Yah, I doubt the ouija board would work." Keith said.

"Why not?" Jordan asked with a pout. "I saw a video on YouTube about it once."

Keith was about to speak, when another, unfamiliar voice said the exact thing he was thinking. "The ouija board is a farce."

The three people (two people and a ghost) spun to where the speaker slouched behind the stray sofa lining the hall. Keith nearly jumped from his shoes. Not only was there a completely unnecessary couch in the middle of a passageway, but a man watching from its shadows. His pale skin accentuated his light blue eyes, which peeped from behind his messy, black bangs. If Keith had to imagine what a demon in human form would looked like, this guy would be it. With his malicious glare and dark eye bags, Keith got an awful feeling in his stomach.

"Hey! It's Nics!" Lance grinned. "Being creepy as always, I see."

"Nics? What kinda name is that?" Keith asked, forgetting that the aforementioned Nics was in earshot.

"My name is Nico, you rash."

"Rash?"

"Don't question me, mortal." Nico scoffed.

"So... Like the singer Nico, or Nico Di Angelo?" Keith asked.

"Yazawa Nico, fool." He growled. His black nails bore into the thin, blue couch cushion. Keith was still bothered by the furniture's seemingly illogical placement. Nico continued, "But that's not the matter at hand."

Keith crammed his hands into his pockets, and waited with his palm on the soothing plastic of his iPhone. He had switched off his music a while ago, and was now seriously regretting that decision.

"I'm in your head. I feel what you feel. I hear what you hear. I know what you see, mortal" Nico raised his right hand, which held - terrifyingly - what looked like an extremely sharp butter knife.

"O - ok..." Keith inched away.

"Don't worry, he's harmless." Lance assured. "To humans anyways... I think."

"If you want to know too, you know who to find." Nico raised his other hand, which - even more terrifyingly - held a mutilated stuffed hippo. Keith's heart faltered. He loved hippos! How could this guy perform such a wicked feat?

Stabbing his knife into the hippo's chest, Nico gave Keith one last glare before sinking back behind the couch.

"Who the fuck?" Keith started, then quickly correcting himself, once again forgetting about Jordan. The boy felt like a fleeting memory. "Frick. I said frick."

"Yeah, that's cousin Nico for you." Jordan grinned. "He's really friendly once you get to know him."

"Nah, he's just more bearable once you get used to him." Lance corrected. His transparent body hung lazily upside down in the air. "But that's Nics, Nics, the crazy nimrod for you."

Keith's eyebrows scrunched together, the line between them more prevalent than ever. Lance's brother's words rang over and over again in his mind. If you want to know too, you know who to find. But, did that mean... Was it possible? It seemed insane, but, then again, everything in this story has been insane.

"See, Mr. Keith." Jordan pulled on Keith's hoodie sleeve. Keith turned, his long, black bangs brushing past his eyes. "You don't need to feel sad anymore. Not everyone will believe you, but I do. And so does uncle Nico, and probably a whole lot of other people once you tell them."

Keith fell silent. Like in so many other situations, he didn't know how to respond.

Jordan let go of Keith, and smiled a gap-toothy smile. "I don't think you're crazy, Keith."

***

Tell me pretty lies,  
Look me in the face,  
Tell me that you love me,  
Even if it's fake,

~Blackbear / IDFC

***

Jordan left into the kitchen.

Keith and Lance were alone once again. Well, besides Nico who still lingered creepily from behind the hallway couch. The sight of that scruffy, hollow faced man gave Keith the chills. Keith was pretty mangy himself, but Nico McClain was on another level. And, to make matters worse, he couldn't get those words from his mind. If you want to know too, you know who to find. Could he be the answer they were looking for?

"Well then." Lance said, snapping Keith from his daze. "That was a strange encounter, but are we going to go, or are we just gonna keep standing around like dazed cattle?"

"Huh?"

"Hello. Earth to Keith? You've been staring at your shoes for five minutes now."

"Right... yeah." Keith shook his head, waking himself up. "What did you say?"

"Bathroom? Party? You're fucking out of it, man."

Oh yeah, Keith forgot he was supposed to release his pee sack. Honestly, he didn't need to go. Especially now, as his mind was whirlwind of unanswered questions. This was getting nowhere. Instead of answers, more and more mysteries piled before him. Every second it thickened in size and complexity. Circling his pointer finger around his palm, Keith nodded once before following Lance in the direction of the supposed bathroom.

A few doors down, Lance passed through one of the closed passageways with his ghostly abilities. Keith paused to watched the paint-chipped door in wonder, when the ghost boy appeared before him in a flash of light. The aforementioned Lance looked stunned for a second, then annoyed. "Are you following or not?"

"Unlike you, I can't phase through walls." Keith explained. "Is this a bathroom?"

Lance rolled his eyes, and pushed the door open via doorknob. "No, it's my bedroom - old bedroom. There's a bathroom connected to it."

Keith and Lance entered. Immediately, Keith was hit with a burst of nostalgia. Though he had never seen the room before, something about it struck him as... wistful. A fantasy world filled with memories both good and bad.

A bunk bed was lined on the far end of the bedroom. Its mattress was short and narrow, and Keith had a hard time picturing Lance of all people fitting on it. His long limbs would dangle from its side, especially because he acted like a sporadic starfish while sleeping. Keith had known him long enough to gather that fact. It didn't help that Keith found himself on the floor with Lance sprawled across the covers when they slept together. When he went to the mirror that day, he spotted a red mark on his cheek with the same pattern as the bottom of Lance's shoe.

"This one's mine." Lance patted the only other bed in the room. The stiff mattress didn't flinch at his touch. It was another child-sized bed, with navy blue sheets, and two thin, white pillows. It looked as though it hadn't been used in awhile. Like a meat pantry in a house of vegan advocates.

The walls of the room were lined with sky blue and pearly white striped wallpaper, as well as black shelves containing random crap. Ancient soccer trophies, old photos, books (though Keith doubted Lance read any of them), and a bunch of weird candles, masks, and voodoo dolls. He was about to question them, but remembered Nico. "Hey, does Nico still live here?" He asked, placing a delicate hand on one of the masks that vaguely resembled an animal. Was is supposed to be a bunny? A fox? It was impossible to tell.

Lance clicked his tongue. "Last time I was alive, he was. Dude's kinda a hermit. He doesn't like to venture from his safe space much."

Yeah, Keith could definitely see that. He ran another finger along one of the book's leather bindings. The cover was black, and showed a red, five pointed star nested in a circle. Keith raised an eyebrow and drew his hand away. "Lance, I think your brother is a satanist. Did you not know?"

"Oh, yeah." Lance answered. He jumped up and down on his old bed, its springs not making a single squeak. "I've lived with him for, like, how many years now? You should see what he does at night. It's some scary crap. Summoning demons and shit."

"Riiggghhtt." Keith made a mental note to watch himself around both Lance's brother and his demonic playthings. Though he felt he was going to be seeing him in the near future, he wasn't particularly looking forward to the encounter.

Lance hovered back off solid ground, and glided to the shelves. He was glowing a baby blue, which Keith noticed brought out his childlike wonder. "Wow! I can't believe they kept all my stuff. Wait a second..." Lance pulled the shelve from the wall, causing a file to fall from it. He picked it up, flipped it open, - making extra sure Keith didn't catch a glimpse - and smiled profusely.

Keith eyed it suspiciously. Lance's color turned from blue to a bright shade of red. The malicious smirk remained as he went over the contents. Keith wondered if it was some sort of prank or inside joke. Perhaps it highlighted uncovered secrets he and Pidge kept for blackmail. Knowing Lance, it could've be anything. "What is it?" He finally asked.

"Thank god they didn't find it." Lance heaved a sigh before closing the folder. "That would be embarrassing. It's my porn."

Keith's shoulders tensed, then gradually eased. Of course it was. Why would Keith think of anything else? "Why the hell do you keep physical porn in your room? There's something called the internet, grandpa."

Lance frowned, shoving the packet back in its spot behind the shelve. "You know well this place doesn't have an internet connection. Besides, weren't you the one who said, and I quote: 'Maybe you juveniles should look up from your technology once and awhile, and appreciate real human interaction.'"

"And porn is real human interaction?"

"Whatever, shush it you Apple cock sucker."

"Blackberry." Keith shot back, not needing to add anything more. The word was insult enough.

Lance scoffed, and flipped his middle finger to the heavens in all its bony glory. Keith chuckled back, which caused Lance's cheeks to brighten a fire truck red. Averting his eyes, Lance drifted to his bed and the nightstand beside it. "Oh, hell yes!" Lance exclaimed, eyes round as frisbees. Expecting another crude possession, Keith was pleasantly surprised when the ghost boy's hands didn't come back with an adult toy, but a stuffed animal. "Kalternecker!" He yelped, nearly suffocating the shark between his noodle arms and chest. "You haven't abandoned me!"

Though he attempted to sound condescending, Keith couldn't help but smile. "You have a stuffed shark named... Kalternecker? Why?"

"Because reasons." Lance squeezed Kalternecker under his arm. All the stuffing ran to its head, its button eyes black and motionless. "Maybe it's because sharks are cool. Unlike hippos."

"Hippos are the best!" Keith gasped, voice wavering.

"You're so weird." Lance tossed Kalternecker aside. With a thunk, it landed belly up on the bed. Its undead eyes stared daggers into Keith's soul. "Let's see what else we got here." Lance continued, opening one of the nightstand drawers. He scavenged through the cluster of objects which consisted of dumb, random shit such as yo-yos, colored sharpies, and empty tic-tac containers. His fingers wormed its way to the bottom, and yanked out once he found something interesting.

Lance presented a cardboard bound notebook, papers overhung from its insides, and spine snapped in half. It looked used, but not well kept in the slightest. "It's my journal!" Lance said, and flipped to the first page. Imminently, a packet worth of content dropped to the floor. "It's still as crappy as I remember."

"What's it for?" Keith asked, as he bent down to read one of the fly-away papers. He scanned over it, and smirked. "Is this a love poem?"

"Hand it over." Lance's palm waited face-up. When Keith gave it back, he read over the messily scribbled words, and grinned. "Oh, I remember this beaut."

"Who's the lucky lady?" Keith crossed his arms, chin up.

"Shay Kimberly. The light of my life in elementary. I never once talked to her, but somehow I knew it was meant to be."

"So, what happened?"

"I wrote her this, of course!" Lance got on one knee, still inches off the ground, perhaps out of habit. Facing Keith, he placed one hand on his chest, and the other - sonnet in hand - before him. In a low voice he read, "Oh Shay. You make my day. You are pretty. Please be with me. Your smile is cool. Promise I'm not a tool. You are a princess. Even if you become skinless."

Lance lowered his head in a bow, and Keith clapped nice and slow. "Wow, how romantic. Really proves to me you're not a tool."

"Wait!" Lance stopped. "There's more! Shay, please date me. We can hold hands under a tree. We can get married. In a white dress you will be carried. Have a family of our own. And stay together till we're grown."

Keith laughed, which made Lance beam. "Wow. Already thinking of the future? That's pretty good - for a elementary schooler."

"I was quite the lyrical genius back in my day." Lance puffed his chest proudly. When he got back upright, he paused and looked down at his shoes. He didn't seem troubled, but deep in contemplation rather. After a moment, he met Keith's eyes again, and said, "Come here, I wanna try something."

Keith raised an eyebrows suspiciously. "What are you scheming?"

"Who said I was scheming anything?"

"That face. Your malicious scheming face is showing."

"Oh, come on. You're just making stuff up now." Lance's feet flew behind him as he maneuvered to Keith. Hesitating only for a second, Lance placed his hands beneath Keith's armpits, and used a great deal of strength to lift his large mass from the ground.

Keith gasped, then sucked in his breath. Lance's body radiated a soothing, humanlike warmth. His dark eyes met the other's transparent gaze. They held their stare for a moment, before Lance's arms faltered under Keith's weight. Carefully, the two descended to the floorboards. They had went up a few inches at most, but Keith felt as though he had ventured across the galaxy and back. Just staring into Lance's eyes gave him the thrill of an epic guitar solo, or riding top speed through the city landscape, engine revved.

Lance's hands slid down Keith's sides, but he did not remove them. When they reached the leather of his belt, they stopped. Lance's eyes darted left, right, up, down, not knowing where to look. Lance's fingers tapped anxiously on his jacket's fabric. Keith wanted to grab them, and entwine them in his own.

"That was pretty pathetic, huh?" Lance said in no more than a whisper. His long eyelashes fluttered above his averted eyes. They were narrow, yet wide. Old, yet kiddish. A layer had been peeled from his divine exterior that Keith had not anticipated. Beautiful as always, but of a different sort. "I should start working out so I can lift you higher.”

  
He hadn't realized it until then, but Keith was still holding his breath. He let out a sigh, which relaxed his shoulders. His sides tingled, the weight of Lance and nothing but Lance on a loop in his mind. How was it that the brown haired boy looked even better up close? His crooked features and imperfect skin had otherworldly powers; the kind that melted his brain to a gooey slush. Keith wanted to know every inch of his perfect, flawed body.

Keith raised his hand - it shook - and placed it gently on Lance's cheek. Lance bit his bottom lip. His transparent skin faded and reappeared as Keith's thumb ran back and forth across his cheekbone. The two boy's eyes met once again. Silence swelled and consumed them. Keith's entire body trembled. Why was he trembling?

"It's weird." Keith murmured. "I want to hate you. I should hate you."

"But you don't?" Lance guessed. "Me neither." He paused, laying his hands flat on Keith's sides. "It's weird. I tried my best to not feel anything for you, but..."

"But you do? Same." Keith's lips curved up. "Does this mean you're going to write me a poem now too?"

Lance laughed once. It was a soft, fleeting thing, but one that Keith adored. Almost as much as his boisterous cackle that both charmed and terrified. "If that's what you want."

Keith's body moved before his mind could. He lifted his arms, wrapped them around Lance's neck, and pulled the ghost boy in for a hug. Dragging him down from the air, Keith's chin fell on Lance's shoulder, and fingers dug into the material of his jacket.

Lance was numb for a moment, before tentatively placing his hands around Keith in return. He squeezed him tight, sinking all the way to the floor; dark brown hair tickling Keith’s cheek. His wet cheek. Keith moved a finger below his eye to find a trail of tears. How strange. Keith didn't remember the point they had appeared.

Keith sniffled, and hugged so hard it nearly suffocated the other. "Don't kill me!" Lance gasped.

"You're already dead." Keith mumbled. "Why do you have to be dead?"

Lance froze. His body temperature dropped greatly as though he remembered: yes, I am not part of your world. He existed in a reality neither among the living nor the dead. What was he supposed to be? And why was Keith caught between the threads of his narrative? "You're right." Lance said, voice low and sad. "I'm sorry."

"I wish it was me." Keith confessed.

"I don't." Lance shot back. "I wish when I died, I could've just... stayed dead. You know, so you wouldn't have to fall for someone like me. Could this ever work?"

But that was ridiculous. Keith had always loved him.

"Honestly," Keith drew back, keeping his hands on Lance's bony shoulders. "I don't know. But I do want to pretend. Pretend, just once, that this world isn't complete shit."

"That's a good idea." Lance nodded. "But there are some good things in it too. You really can't appreciate the world fully until you've been ripped from it. For example, there's you."

"And there's you, but you're not part of this world."

"But, when I'm with you," Lance leaned forward. A shiver ran down Keith’s back, hairs standing on end. Lance's lips were centimeters from his ear. "I feel alive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vol. 5 coming out soon!


	5. Vol. 5

You and I were fire, fire, fireworks  
I said I'd never miss you, but I guess you'll never know  
Where the bridges I have burned never really led home  
On the Fourth of July

~Fall Out Boy / Fourth Of July

***

Keith got a text from Shiro.

Shiro: 'Hey! Me, Allura, and the gang are meeting up at my place for New Years! You in?'

And Keith, dismissive but polite, answered with a simple: 'no thanks, I have other plans.'

And it was true. Because, unbeknownst to Shiro and the rest of the world, Keith had found his one and only. A bond - a love - that transcended both life and death. Lance and Keith, two sides of the same coin.

Keith cranked down the window of his black Honda, and extended his arm to feel the cool wind pass between his fingers. The sky was an inky black void, too close to the city for stars to be seen, and the road a hilly ride that stretched toward the sea.

Lance, who sat in the passenger seat - hovered just above it - let the gust send his mess of hair flailing behind him. His long eyelashes fluttered as he squinted, head poked from the open window. The adrenaline Keith felt was addicting, but he didn't know if the cause was the speed or the sight of Lance's dazzling expression as he hollered to the rolling plains.

Keith turned the knob of his radio. It blasted tunes which shook the car and scrambled his brain to mush. It was loud, but he was ok with that. With no one around for miles, there was no better time to crank the stereo and let their hearts pound with the beat.

"This is amazing!" Lance exclaimed, jutted his arms from the car, and smiled into the nothingness. He emitted a yellow glow, which made him stand out above all else. Keith gawked at his crooked, white teeth and brown skin outlined behind the dim moon's glow. When he looked at his ghost boy, Keith didn't feel quite so small. Instead of just another human out of billions, Keith felt as though he was the luckiest thing to ever feel, breath, and love. To be apart of Lance's life was unbelievable. Being in love with him was a dream beyond his wildest imaginations. But, him loving Keith in return? That was delusional. And yet... here he was.

"Keith! Keep your eyes on the road!"

Keith's head snapped forward as he jerked the steering wheel right. They slid back on course. Thankfully no other cars were there to witness his stupidity.

Lance ducked back into the car, and turned his attention upward. "Hey, you know what?" He had to shout to be heard over the roaring wind.

"No, I don't know what."

"I've never been on the roof of a moving car before. Chloe always said it was too 'dangerous', or some crap."

"I don't like where this is going." Keith pulled his hand back in through the window.

"I do." Lance shot back, and hovered skyward. His head was the first to disappear through the car's roof, then his torso, then his long, long, long legs. Keith tried to keep his focus forward as he heard Lance howl wildly above him. A wild animal had been let from its cage and was on the run, free from danger and with a nag for adventure.

"You better not fall off!" Keith called, rolling his eyes with a smirk.

"Oh, please. I'm a ghost, how could I -"

"Lance?" Keith asked suddenly. Lance's voice had cut off.

Lance reappeared in the passenger seat. His eyes were wide, and jaw agape. Keith eyed him suspiciously. "What happened?"

"I fucking fell off." Lance said, shaken. "That was not a pleasant experience."

"Are you hurt?"

Lance looked down at himself, then shook his head. "I don't think I can be hurt. Not physically anyway. Still, that doesn't stop the terror of being flung across the sky, and landing face first into the concrete with all the momentum of a descending jet plane."

Keith couldn't help but chuckle. He brought his fist to his mouth to stifle the laughter, then said, "That's what you get for being reckless."

"Hey, I was just trying to enjoy my newly honed abilities. Well, not new, but you know what I mean. If you had a chance to do stupid stuff without getting hurt, wouldn't you?"

"Depends. Here, put this in the CD player." Keith instructed, eager to change the subject. With his free hand, he reached into his hoodie pocket, and pulled out a thin, square, plastic container. It held a disc labeled only by black sharpie scribbled across the surface.

Lance took it from him, and popped the case open curiously. "Lance's Funeral?" He read. "What is this?"

"Let's just say," Keith began, cheeks a dark crimson, "it's a late Christmas Present, or an early New Year's gift, whatever floats your boat. All you need to know is that it's for you, and you better not laugh at me."

Lance's grin stretched from ear to ear. He took the disk, and pushed it into the medieval device known as a CD player. Turning the volume knob to its maximum, Lance leaned his back against the seat to listen. Keith cranked the windows up so they could hear better - not that it was needed, as the music blasted loud enough to make a deaf man's ears bleed. But, somehow, Keith wasn't bothered. He could bare the ear-rape if it kept that look on Lance's face. That look that warded away the darkness, making way for light.

As the two continued down the road, Keith wondered what was so great about the beach, and why Lance swooned over its... sand? Ocean? A bunch of H2O and annoying dust that got into seemingly impossible crevices? Either way, Lance loved it, so there must've been something to such a place. But what? The seashells? The seagulls? The salty breeze?

When the ocean came into view, Lance nearly bolted from the car. Keith parked on the sand, and pushed the door open. It was dark, so Lance brought an electric lantern with him. Placing it on the hood of Keith's car, Lance darted to the water. "Yes! The sea! My home turf, motherfuckers!"

When he got there, Lance kicked water into the air, his clothes showing no signs of wetness. Perhaps ghost clothes worked differently from mortal clothes? Pondering this physiological conundrum, Keith trudged across the damp sand, ditching his shoes and socks on the way. He was not about to get his favorite jeans wet, so Keith stripped them off, and flung them behind him. All that remained was his red boxers and rug-like legs.

After dipping the smallest square centimeter of toe into the ocean, Keith realized quickly it was no jacuzzi. The icy sting cut from his foot through the rest of his body. Doubling back, Keith shivered, and yelled, "Fuck, that's cold. How are your balls not falling off?"

"My balls are blue, daba dee. I'm used to it, bro. I'm cold blooded."

Keith sighed. "Ok, firstly, it's warm blooded, and secondly, sometimes I question why the hell I like you."

"Because I'm just so charming?" Lance asked, batting his eyelashes, and kicking his leg behind him.

Keith scrunched his nose, inching closer and closer to the nerve-numbing sea. Even on the sand, Keith could feel its bite. When he stepped in and moved to Lance bit by bit, he clasped his hands around his arms. Lance narrowed his eyes, his breath a chilly, white cloud on a pitch black canvas. "Any day now, slowpoke."

"This is so weird. I'm standing in a pool where gross, skinny creatures eat one another on a regular basis. Not to mention make babies and shit. Why the hell is it so fucking cold?"

"Relax, Texas boy. You're just overreacting. Come over here." Lance waved his arm, motioning Keith closer.

Begrudgingly, Keith took a bigger stride into the ocean, the water level raising ever so higher. When it reached just below his knees, Keith was at Lance's side. But, instead of what he expected, Lance dragged his fingers across the surface of the sea and flicked his wrist, sending a mini tidal wave Keith-bound. Drawing back a moment too late, Keith yelped, "You backstabbing bitch!"

Lance snorted, and urged another splash toward the swearing boy. The water soaked Keith's underwear and the bottom portion of his shirt. So, in retaliation, Keith bent down, and summoned an even greater burst from the chilled water. Lance laughed as he brought his arms up as a shield. "Oh, it is on." He declared with a smirk.

The two boys then proceeded to have a very intense, very elaborate game of splash war. Lance sent his troops in small spurts of power, but Keith countered with one large, ferocious ambush that encircled Lance's entire body in a cold, salty wave. They both laughed, shouted, and kicked as though the world consisted of them and them alone. And, for a moment, that was what Keith believed.

After that scuffle, the pair of generals called it a draw, and ran back to the land. One was soaked and the other looked as dry as ever. Keith couldn't help but think Lance's abilities gave him an unfair advantage. Of course, unfairness wasn't a term associated with war. Only death, adrenaline, and passion.

Keith and Lance crawled onto the car's roof. Well, one of them crawled, and the other jumped. They sat with their bare feet dangling from the side. Keith felt the sand that clung to his damp skin between his bare toes. His and Lance's shoulders were so close, they were nearly touching. Things were going slow in their newly found relationship, but that was ok by Keith. He didn't want to force anything Lance wasn't comfortable with.

Keith glanced at his phone's lock screen. "Ten more minutes until twelve o'clock." He informed, which garnered a nod from Lance.

"Thank god." Lance sighed. "Twenty sixteen was the worst."

"I've never heard a truer statement." He agreed. Twenty sixteen was a shit hole for everyone across the world, but especially for Keith, Lance, and the people they knew. Nothing could outdo the pain of losing Lance. But now, Keith was ready to put it all behind and look to the future. A bright, horrifying future. Keith didn't know what was to come; pain, joy, or perhaps a combination of the two. Dating a ghost was a lot more complicated than he wanted it to be. But who was he to expect anything more? Still, despite the uncertainty of it all, Lance was happy, which made Keith happy, which made everything bearable.

  
Lance leaned back, weight supported by his palms. His bottom half took a position that mimicked sitting on a surface, though his butt still lingered a few centimeters in the air. Keith placed his hands back too, and stared at where his pinky fidgeted next to Lance's. Oh, how he wanted to touch those fingers. "Why do you like the ocean so much?" Keith asked suddenly, cutting through their meaningful silence.

Lance frowned, head remaining forward. It wasn't a sad expression, but one of a thoughtful sort. "The memories, I guess." He answered, voice low as the gentle tides. "Plus, there's this mystery aspect to it. The ocean is so big. It reaches farther than our eyes can see and deeper than our minds can comprehend. There's so much to it, and so much left unexplored. Scientist and shit have found incredible things about the sea, but there's no possible way we know even close to a fraction about it. That's what's so great about the ocean. You can see it once, go back, and it's completely different."

There was a long pause. Keith let the wind whisk his hair, it's touch cooling his damp skin. He wondered what it felt like to be a fish living in the ocean.

"I wanted to be a marine biologist."

Keith turned his head. "Really?" Was all that came, instead of the things he wanted to say.

"Yeah." Lance whispered, inhaling against the frigid breeze.

Keith said nothing more. There was nothing to say. Instead he held his phone between him and Lance, and they both stared down at the ticking clock together. Seven minutes until New Year. Five minutes. Three minutes. Keith felt Lance's hand touch his. Two minutes. One minute. Thirty seconds. Lance gently pushed Keith's wrist aside. Placing his hands on either side of Keith's thighs, Lance leaned in and kissed Keith right as the phone displayed twelve o'clock. Keith's head was sent reeling as Lance's fingers ran up his arm and cupped his neck. His limbs were left limb, mind too engulfed in the shock of the one and only Lance McClain's lips on his own.

They separated for a mere second, Keith's mouth parted in awe. Lance took the opportunity to tug his head forward and push his tongue into Keith's mouth. They were only like that for a moment before the pair were interrupted by a loud boom and burst of light.

Keith and Lance jumped and snapped their attention to the horizon. In the distance a boat was settled. It was hard to see from here - a mere white speck among a black sea and an even blacker sky, but there nevertheless.

"Fireworks." Lance breathed, his eyes reflecting the magnificent bursts of color. The ghost boy watched them in amazement as Keith watched him in wonder.

Lance turned to Keith with a smirk. Their mouths met once again as Lance's fingers made their way beneath the fabric of Keith's coat. He ran his hand through Lance's hair and pulled him impossibly closer.

Lance kissed Keith's cheek, then moved to the crook of his neck. Keith held in a gasp as Lance's fingers inched their way up and down his chest. Seeing Keith's face, Lance decided to tease him further by sliding the tips of his fingers just below Keith's waistline. Keith's face grew ruby red, and mouth tugged down at Lance's malicious grin. Leaning back from Keith's shoulder, Lance whispered, "Wow, I can't believe we're kissing."

Keith, not much for chitchat, pulled him back in. When their lips parted for a breath, Lance took the opportunity to continue, "And we're kissing on a beach with fireworks in the background. This is like the cheesiest, most romantic kiss imaginable."

"Are you always this talkative making out?" Keith asked, his fingers playing with the hair on the back of Lance's head. He looked so lively, it was unreal. Keith couldn't see through him.

"I don't know. I'm just excited." Lance shrugged, his mouth brushing against Keith's ear. "This is like... a dr-"

Keith waited. Lance grew cold. "Um... Lance?" He asked.

Lance disappeared. Keith blinked, unsure of what had happened. He sat up, and turned his head from side to side. "Lance?" It started as a simple question, but soon escalated. "Lance? Lance? LANCE?"

Keith hopped from the car, and ran his hands through his scalp. His head spun, and vision blurred. "Lance! T - this isn't funny. Where the fuck are you?" Black dots spotted the corners of his line of sight.

Keith felt a hot, wet tear fall from his eye to the brim of his nose. He continued shouting as his face grew increasingly redder, features tighter, throat hoarse. "Lance! Lance, you're not fucking gone. Where the fuck are you? Stop, this isn't funny."

He was answered by silence. Complete, utter, isolating silence.

Keith gripped the handle of his car, and yanked it open. He ducked his head inside expecting to find Lance. He wasn't there. Keith slammed the door. "This isn't funny... t - this... why the fuck would you do this to me?"

Keith paused for a second, letting the wind howl in his ears. Only the wind, and nothing more. He could still taste Lance's soft lips and feel his long fingers pressed against his skin. This wasn't the end. It couldn't be. Nothing made sense. He still didn't have his answers.

In a sudden burst of anger, Keith drew his leg up, and flung it wildly at the car's side. The piece of junk shook on impact, its grimy windows rattled. A dent was left where Keith's foot hit. At first, it didn't hurt. The shock was enough to overpower the pain. But, afterword, it shot across Keith like a shockwave. Grabbing his leg, Keith yelped in pain.

Keith's limbs grew too weak to carry his weight. He collapsed to the sand wincing in agony. His stomach felt as though it was going to burst. His lungs were on fire. "Please." Keith said, voice desperate. "Take me instead. Just leave him alone, and torture me instead."

Silence .

"Why wasn't it me?"

Silence.

"What did he ever do?"

Silence.

"Nothing. He did nothing."

Biting his bottom lip, Keith squinted, hot tears and snot falling from his eyes and nose. His face was a wreak. Creases lined his features, and long hair clung to his soaked cheeks. He felt alone. He was alone. No one was there to hear his pathetic whimpering, nor could anyone empathize. He had gotten what he wanted - what he had dreamed of since the beginning of time - only to have it yanked from reach. It was a carrot on a string. He had been taken, loved, and left for dead on the side of the road. Just another one of Earth's many tragedies. One too insignificant in the grand scheme of things for anyone but himself to give a damn about. Another story out of billions no one bothered to read.

Alone, Keith was alone.

"Keith?"

Keith's heart stopped. "Lance?"

"Keith? Where the fuck?" Lance, in the exact position he was before, gasped. His eyes bugged as his head swiveled from side to side.

Keith turned onto his back, and looked up. "Lance?"

Lance leapt from the car and ran - flew - to Keith. "Keith? Are you ok? W - what happened? You disappeared!"

Keith's arms flung forward, and wrapped around Lance. They hugged in silence, allowing their actions to speak for themselves. Finally, after regaining his voice, Keith murmured, "It's time to see your brother."

***

So tell me now  
If this ain't love then how do we get out?  
Because I don't know  
That's when she said I don't hate you boy  
I just want to save you while there's still something left to save

~Rise Against / Savior

***

The pair got into their car.

The next day - or, the same day actually, but much later - Keith drove to the infamous home, on the infamous block, in the infamous neighborhood, aka: 452 Sanders Way. The 'McClains' as known by some, the 'Chamber of Secrets' as known by a certain leathered gloved, black haired boy. He felt as though the label most accurately described the residence. Ladened with mysteries and questionable family ties. The house Lance and the many McClain kids that came before spent their childhood.

Keith drummed on the steering wheel, brushed his bangs from his forehead, and bit the inside of his lip now and again for no other reason but to keep his brain occupied enough to forget his worries. It didn't work. He felt his heart in his mouth and his muscles sore with stiffness.

Keith internally recited and re-recited Lance's letter from memory. It calmed him. He felt its touch in the back-pocket of his jeans. Carrying it around gave him energy. And that's what he needed; energy. To stay calm during this mess; not knowing why or how his boyfriend disappeared and reappeared with no knowledge of either. And there was only one person he could trust - actually, no, Keith didn't think he could trust Nico McClain, but he was their only viable option.

So that's where they went. Keith behind the wheel, Lance hovering in the seat next to him. They didn't speak. Sometimes silence was best in making way for contemplation. Keith placed his white-knuckled hand on the gearshift, though he didn't need to change it. His fist simply urged for something to clutch. Lance and his cold fingers hesitantly moved to Keith's pale skin and tensed muscles. Keith could still see his hand through Lance's. Both boys didn't look at one another. They averted their eyes, Keith at the road ahead, and Lance out the passenger window to the passing storefronts. Keith turned his palm face up and linked fingers with Lance. Gripping tightly, Keith sighed, and let the coolness of the touch engulf him. And, as they sped down the street, Keith thought - promised - one thing: 'I will not lose this'.

They arrived at the house, the stone tile beside the door engraved with the recognizable number, 452. Keith's body trembled. He tightened his hold on Lance as though Lance was threatening to whisk away. They only parted after a moment of stillness in the parked car, listening the low buzz of the ignition, or the air, or their hearts. It was hard to say.

The doors swung open, and Keith stepped out. In an attempt not to draw attention, he didn't park directly in front of 452 Sanders Way, but the house beside it. He didn't want to get Mrs. McClain or Mr. McClain - especially Mr. McClain - angry if they didn't approve of stranger's cars just outside their windows.

Keith and Lance passed through the front lawn because there was no pathway leading to the door, and stopped at the entrance. Though this wasn't his first time here, Keith felt his stomach churn. Everything was so... different. There was no hectic party to distract from the interior - or, more over, the residents. He was even more anxious about speaking a second time with Mrs. Alice McClain. Did she remember him? Did she think he was weird? Did she see him freak out at the party? The questions piled and piled until Lance cut in to remind Keith to knock on the door.

Oh, yeah. They hadn't even gone inside.

Keith knocked. His heart sped faster and faster as he waited for someone - something - to happen. Lance crossed his legs in the air and extended his arms behind his head. Still, they said nothing.

Mrs. McClain opened the door. Her hair was mangled and face lacked makeup. A much different image than that of the Christmas party, but because she wasn't expecting any guests, she likely didn't care what she looked like. Her expression was at first annoyed, then confused, then a forced smile. "Oh, hello."

"Hello." Keith squeaked, his posture suddenly straight as a board.

"And, who are you?" Mrs. McClain's eyebrows pinched. She wore a blue apron across her white t, and was tall like Lance, but chubby like Hunk.

"It's Keith." He said in a hurry, trying his best to appear polite. Of course she didn't remember. There were so many guests at the party, why should she? "I was at the Christmas dinner."

Mrs. McClain nodded. "Ah, of course. So, what do you need?"

"Um... Is Nico here?"

For a moment, Mrs. McClain was still. Keith saw her lips curl before she was able to process his words. "Nico?" She asked in disbelief. "Well, uh, wow. Are you... are you two acquainted?"

"In a way, ma'am."

"Alright..." She blinked away the twinkle of disbelief in her eye. "Well... come in then. He's just in his room. Do you need me to walk you there?"

Keith shook his head and entered. Lance followed close behind. Like before, Lance kept his eyes trained on his mother, an unknowableness which plagued his features.

Once inside, Keith was overwhelmed with the voices that came from the other room. They weren't shouts per se, but boisterous enough to hear through the thin walls. The two participants, a gravely voice and a scratchy voice, argued back and forth about... something.

With one last 'thank you', Keith started for Lance's room. Unfortunately, on the way, he ran into the source of the commotion. Mr. McClain with his thick mustache and wrinkled eyes stood neck to neck with a thin, middle aged woman that resembled a chewed toothpick. They didn't seem to notice him, so Keith hurried his pace while keeping his head down.

He and Lance passed through the hall - including the questionable placed couch - and stopped before Lance's bedroom door. Or, Nico's door in this case. Keith's eyes darted to Lance, a question - unsure which - clung to the tip of his tongue. Lance shrugged in response, and said, "Knock?"

So Keith did. It was a quiet double tap; short and precise. He waited for someone to answer, wondering about Nico all the while.

Minutes later - Keith didn't know the number precisely - the scene was the same as before. Keith knocked again, louder this time. Still, no movement. Not a single peep slipped passed the walls or flicker of light from the crevice between the door and floor.

"Sleeping?" Keith suggested.

"No, that's not right. Nico never sleeps."

"Hey, psychic." A voice came from behind.

The two boys startled and snapped their heads back. Jordan. "What the - why do you keep doing that?" Keith demanded.

"Doing what?" Jordan asked, batting his lashes innocently.

"Sneaking up on us!"

"Us?"

"Yes, me and my imaginary friend. Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe is very sensitive about this stuff."

"What? No I'm not." Lance protested. "Wait, that's not my name!"

"What are you still doing here anyways?" Keith asked, addressing Jordan.

The kid shifted from one foot to the other. In the dim light of the hallway, his eyes almost looked hollow. Keith hadn't payed much attention before, but he noticed just how creepy the child's expression was. Expressive and full of secrets. A shiver crawled across Keith's skin. Jordan spoke, "I'm always here."

"Always here? Why? What?" Keith turned to Lance for an explanation. The ghost boy's features pinched, making it clear he was just as confused. "How long?" Keith continued.

"Always."

"What? No you haven't." Lance said.

"No you haven't." Keith translated.

"Yeah I have." Jordan insisted. "Lance just never noticed. Nobody noticed."

Keith and Lance's eyes bugged. Kids weren't Keith's cup of tea to begin with; creepy kids speaking nonsense was just... overdoing it. Keith opened his mouth with the intention of saying something when another voice cut in from the door. "So you can see him too?"

Keith and Lance startled - again - and made a full pivot. Nico - Nico's head rather - poked out from the small opening he provided into his bedroom. His hair and eyes were crazier than ever. "You answer us ‘now’?" Keith scowled.

Nico ignored him. "I knew you would come. You are like me."

"I am like you?" Keith repeated. "I'm sorry, but none of this is making sense. What do you mean you can see him too? Are you talking about the kid? And how did he know -" He paused. He knew better than to bring up Nico's dead brother's name.

When Keith didn't continue, Nico said, "You are like me, but two times as powerful. You have magic eyes. I have mortal eyes I have trained. A sixth sense. You have been awoken recently, I can smell it. But the power you have gained, you are still confused on how to wield it."

"Um... right. Well, that's not why I'm here." Keith couldn't look Nico directly in the eyes. Instead, his gaze darted from his shoes, to Lance, and back. "I just need to know why... my ghost buddy disappeared, and how to prevent it."

Nico snarled, looking less than amused. "His energy is dwindling. This is basic knowledge."

"What energy? Be more clear."

"You be more observant." Nico spat back. "It's energy, energy, his energy, your energy, all the energy. Gotta have energy to appease the balance. Energy, energy, energy."

Before Keith had time to respond, Nico slammed the door open fully. Keith jumped back, just nearly avoiding a collision. Lance stayed put, letting the object fly through him as always. Jordan was nowhere to be seen.

"Energy, energy, energy. I can provide what you need. It's basic stuff. Trickle here, trickle there. Power beyond the wildest imaginations. Dark magic. Dark, dark magic. Seeping through the walls and floors, it consumes us. Right this way." Nico waved a hand, prompting Keith to enter.

“So, you're going to fix him?"

"No. Power him. No one can fix a lost spirit. Not unless they’re willing to sacrifice it all. Equal exchanges, that's the basis of black magic. No. All magic. We don't cut corners. Everything, everyone, every thought is equal."

"Right." Keith was about to debate this point, but decided otherwise. Instead, he followed suit with Nico's suggestion, and stepped through the passage into Nico's bedroom. Lance stayed close behind him, his transparent form glowing an ominous black. Inside, he saw Jordan. "Gah! When did he get here?"

"I've always been here, sir." Jordan said with a pout.

"So you can hear him?" Nico nodded with approval. "The worlds are muffled and grained from each other. Only with skillful care can one decider what they yammer. Me, of course, and now you."

"Wait a minute..." Keith's eyes darted between Lance's creepy brother and creepy... family member. His mind then wandered back to the time with Hunk on the phone. Lance spoke into it, and Hunk heard him. Not clearly, but the words were still somewhat comprehensible. Was that what Nico heard? And if so, did that mean -

"He's like me?" Lance swallowed, his voice shaky.

"He's a ghost?" Keith translated.

Jordan's eyes went black. His pupils expanded until no white was visible. His form - once whole - flicked in and out of existence. His expression, ever fading, shifted from a smile, to a pout, to a smirk, to a growl. Every second, Keith found himself forgetting more and more about the kid. What he looked like. Their past conversations. Jordan was truly inhuman. A phantom, a ghost. Dead. And, now that he knew the truth, that was all he could see. A spirit banished from its host. Walking, yet not breathing. Existing, yet, simultaneously, not.

"H - how?" Was all Keith managed. "Huh?"

"He needs energy." Nico declared. "He's a fading form. Young and young as always. Always young. But dead? That is the mystery."

Nico took a stride to the center of the room where a makeshift poster sprawled across the hardwood. On it, a pentagram was drawn in red sharpie. On its five corners, lit candles flickered with an invisible draft. For a moment, Keith thought the wind was coming from Jordan, but then noticed the vent just above him.

"I'm never going to die." The young boy said, his voice grim. "But I'm never going to live again either."

Nico took another candle from off the bed, and lit it with a swift flick of his wrist. One moment it was a harmless stick of wax, and the next it was ablaze because of a lighter Keith didn't realize was in Nico's palm. He placed it in the center of the pentagram and sat cross legged behind one point; bare feet on his thighs and hands clenched atop his knees. Looking dangerously close to the six flames, he closed his eyes and began to chant, "Life and death, death and life. One cannot exist without the other. Life and death, death and life. An equal exchange. Life and death, death and life." Nico opened his eyes and looked forward at nothing. "Jordan, the cage."

Jordan nodded, reached under the bunk bed, and pulled out a cage. Keith and Lance, too stunned to speak, watched in wide-eyed horror. It was an animal. A grotesque, patchy animal with white foam accumulated around its mouth, and eyes red and dilated. At first, because it was moving fast around the small, metal space, it was difficult to tell what the thing was. Then Keith figured it out. A squirrel. Jordan was holding a wild, rabies-infested squirrel. Keith doubled back. "What the fuck?!"

The animal chirped and hissed. It jumped from one end of the metal cage to the other. Though lively, its small body made little to no sound. The young, freaked-faced ghost had a face of - pity? sorrow? - as he held the handle as far away from his body as possible. He walked, or floated - it was hard to distinguish - to Nico. Without a glance up or a shift in his stone-like expression, Nico took it, and dangled the cage above the center of the pentagram.

"Ok, I've never seen him do this shit before." Even Lance looked horrified.

"Why - how - where did you get a squirrel with rabies?" Keith demanded. "And why the hell do you have a squirrel with rabies? And what the fuck am I doing here? I mean..." He glanced at Jordan. "frick, damn it!"

"I told you, I'm not a little kid." Jordan frowned.

"Why, when, where, how." Nico reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. "Questions, questions, questions. You done yet? I need to continue the ritual."

Keith took another step back, ready to dash. "Ok, ok. Stop right there. Before you do... whatever it is you're doing, tell me something. What are you planning on achieving and how?"

Nico gritted his teeth. "What and how? Questions, questions, questions. Just stand back, wonder eyes."

And, with that, Nico stabbed the animal. It was a gruesome scene. Nico's hand slammed down in a narrow arc, the blade of his knife cutting through the slit of the cage, and landing square into the squirrel's chest. It was surreal. One minute the creature was alive, and the next it was motionless in a pool of its own blood. The foam from its mouth bubbled and blood trickled from the sides of the cage, mixing with the thick candle wax below. Keith felt as though he was going to vomit. Lance's skin was green.

The candle in the center of the pentagram flicked upward, its orange flame danced through the air. As the blood splatter painted the poster, it grew more and more powerful. "Life and death, death and life." Nico repeated, but much louder. He no longer sounded like himself, but Nico and some other presence. "One died when they should not, so the others shall stay when they should not."

The flame flared blue, then red, then back to blue. Both Jordan and Lance screeched, which shook the room around them. They collapsed to the ground. Lance wrapped his hands around his neck and pulled his head to his knees, fingers clenching and unclenching his hair. His jaw was wide as the terrible wail continued. Keith ran to his side. “Lance!"

Lance's legs extended and bent at impossible angles as his body scrambled wildly to and fro. "Stop!" He yelped as the blood seeped into the cracks of the floorboards and extended to Jordan and Lance, turning from red to black as it soaked into their feet and arms. Lance was at one minute brown, then a pale white with visible black veins. The walls shook as blood gushed from behind its ripped wallpaper. "Stop! It hurts!"

Keith's throat was dry. They needed to get out of there. "Nico, stop this! You're hurting him!"

"Life and death, pain and joy. One cannot exist without the other." Nico chanted, his eyes ablaze. The lights overhead flickered and walls hummed a horrific sound.

"This isn't what I asked for!"

"Everything needs power. It cannot be created nor destroyed. Something - someone - needs to hand it over." Nico said, the second presence in his voice getting louder and louder, drowning out the original.

"There has to be another way!"

"I am the only way. You want to save him or the creature? There is no either or." Nico was gone. The phantom had completely consumed him.

Lance and Jordan screamed in unison. The fire shot up in a white blaze, hitting Keith with a wave of overwhelming heat. The ends of his hair singed and skin scorched. In a blink of an eye, Keith's willpower was obliterated. The pain was too much to handle. He wanted to die.

Then it all vanished.

***

I've been ghosting  
I've been ghosting alone  
Ghost in the world  
Ghost with no home  
I remember  
I remember the days  
When I'd make you oh, so afraid

~Mother Mother / Ghosting

***

Keith reached for Lance's hand and touched it.

It was solid in his own. Solid in front of Jordan. Solid in front of Nico.

Keith could feel Lance. His touch was more alive than ever. Soft skin, bony fingers. Keith tightened his grip and brought Lance's hand to his mouth, muttering the same few words: 'I can't lose this'. Lance's eyes were open to mere slits; a glimmer of deep blue that shone against his dark skin. Keith couldn't see through him.

He couldn't see through him.

Keith felt a tear trickle down his cheek. He moved Lance's hand to his eye and breathed in their shared air. "Are you hurt?"

"I feel..." Lance paused, "Sad."

"You're whole." Keith brushed his other hand against Lance's cheek whose expression was eerily blank.

Lance blinked once. "That's weird. I don't feel whole. I - I can... I can feel him inside me. His blood, his disease. Like... he's a part of me. His sorrow."

"Who?"

"Him. The creature. His life was short. I never knew how much an animal could feel. To love. To hurt. But, we're animals after all, aren't we? We just... take so many things for granted, you know?" Lance lifted his arm, hand trembling. No, his whole body was trembling. "I can feel the illness. It's clouding my brain. I - it's taking over. I'm no longer myself. I'm me, the illness, and the sorrow."

"No, no, no." Keith took both his hands and placed them on either side of Lance's head. Keith made sure Lance was looking at him by positioning his face inches from Lance's. His eyes were glass. This wasn't the Lance Keith knew. "Look at me Lance. It's me. J - just breath, ok."

"But I can't." His tone held no emotion. It was flat. Factual.

"Yes you can. You can breath, ok. Just... come back to me."

Lance took a sharp inhale, then exhaled shakily. "My breath feels cold. Why is it always so cold?"

Keith pulled Lance up and wrapped his arms around Lance's back. Though he didn't know what to do to help him, the least Keith could provide was his warmth. He hooked his fingers in Lance's soft, brown hair and clung to him like his life depended on it.

Perhaps it did.

Over Lance's shoulder, Keith narrowed his eyes at Nico. The brother in question was snuffing the last candle’s flame. Everything looked so... normal. It was a wonder that seconds before the place was in total ruins. Black blood, red embers, stuff pulled straight from nightmares. But all that remained were Nico, sitting; Jordan, sitting; Lance, shivering in Keith's arms; and a cage, housing a dead, diseased animal. Nico's knife glimmered against the artificial, overhead light. A streak of crimson blood seeped down its blade.

Nico took the handle and drew it from the creature's chest. Lance gasped, his eyes wide and dilated. His mouth was ajar as though he wanted to scream but couldn't. A sound similar to a whimper escaped from the back of Lance's throat. Keith's heart sank. "Stop, you're hurting him!" He demanded.

"I helped him." Nico clarified.

"He’s suffering!" Keith felt his blood boil beneath his skin, turning his complexion a fiery red.

"What do you not understand?" Nico stumbled to his feet, long, stick-like legs struggling to keep balance. "I. Helped. Him. Life and death, death and life. It's an equal exchange. You want to keep him here? Grounded? Than you have to make sacrifices. It's one creature's life for another. It was either going to die or live on in agony. I just ended its misery. What's the expression? Killing two rocks with one bird? Like that." Nico swiped the bloody side of his knife across his bare forearm. A gash appeared from it, red from both his and the squirrel’s blood. Keith nearly gagged as he brought it to his face and licked it. Nico made a sour expression. "Salty."

"You're fucking insane!" Keith felt a wave a heat consume him. He knew this feeling all too well. Pure, unadulterated rage. He thought back to what Shiro hammered into his head: ‘patience yields focus’.

"Am I? Or are you just too accustomed to this society's laws of normalcy to see the true world beyond the shadows of the cave wall?" Nico snarled. "I don't have time for your morality bullshit. Face it. I helped you. Or can you just not accept that because of how I look to you?" Nico stabbed his arm a second time and sliced down to his wrist. The two gashes created an x in his skin. He licked it again. "Better."

"Stop! Just, stop!" Keith demanded. He stood, leaving Lance kneeled on the floor. He was half infuriated and half concerned Nico was unflinchingly cutting himself. "I never asked for this, so stop fucking slashing yourself open. Do you think this is some sort of joke? Killing a fucking animal and messing with pentagrams, demons, and shit? You seriously don't feel an ounce of remorse for tormenting your goddamn brother?"

Keith felt the hand of regret around his neck the second the words left his mouth.

"I -"

"What?" Nico muttered, a shadow falling over his face.

Keith thinned his lips and inhaled sharply through his nose. On the floor, Lance looked up and turned his attention from his brother to Keith then back again.

"What did you just say?" Nico repeated. Louder. Angrier. Too angry. His ears steamed and droopy eyes watered. Nico's voice was hoarse, but he managed a shout.

Keith’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a gulp and met Nico's eyes directly.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Nico's knife clashed against the hardwood beside his feet and hands clawed for his own hair to yank it. His eyes bugged and bottom lip trembled. He was a complete mess, tripping over words and producing terrible noises that couldn't be classified as human. "WHY THE HELL?!"

"Nico!" Jordan yelped.

"How could I?" Keith protested. "Because I knew you would react like this!"

"Weeks! Weeks, I've been trying to contact him. H - he was gone. Didn't respond. Deceased, dead, finished. Do you know what I sacrificed? Do you know what I was about to sacrifice?" This got Lance to stand. "I - I was about to do it. But I was a coward. I'm a coward. He was dead. He was gone. He's not here. No, no. He's not here!"

"What did you expect?" Keith clenched his fists. ‘Patients yields focus, patients yields focus’. "Lance died and I just happen to appear sporting a ghost not long afterward? Who did you think it was? My Mom? My Dad? Some stranger? No! I don't know any of those people nor do I give a rat's ass about them. Lance is the only fucking family I have, and if you think you can get away with hurting him, you better think about running because I'll slam that sour face of yours to the concrete."

Nico made the aforementioned sour face and yanked his cut arm. Even if it stung, Nico made no signs of it doing so. "He's my family, not yours." He hissed, slumped low. His baggy, black t shirt hung loosely around his slender body. When he shifted, Keith could spot the outline of his ribcage beneath the fabric.

"Ha." Keith laughed humorlessly. "What, so you think Lance doesn't care about me? Well, maybe you should ask him if that's true before you go around spewing nonsense."

"He's my brother." Nico's fingers grasped his gashes and turned sharply around his forearm. Keith winced for him. "I've known him since he was born. How long have you known him? Weeks? Months? Years? Well, whoop de doo. Nothing can transcend the power and connection of blood."

"Love." Keith corrected. "Love can."

Nico's eyebrows furrowed. It was no longer Lance, Keith, Nico, and Jordan. It was only the two, going back and forth, argument after argument, both reaching for the same reward: Lance's favoritism.

"Love doesn't exist, you fucking idiot. It's just a bunch of connections in the brain which confuses lust for this fictitious illusion known as love. Life is food, sleep, sex, nothing more."

"You're wrong."

"No, no I'm not." Nico dragged his tongue up his bloodied arm a third time. He finished with a smack of his lips before continuing. "Don't you see? You're just a warm mouth to him. He doesn't give a damn about you."

"Fuck you."

"You're just there to fulfill his desires. Our bond isn't so imbecile. We're brothers. Friends. My only friend..." Nico's voice trailed.

"We aren't like that." Keith persisted.

"Oh, really?" Nico's features pinched. His long, black bangs clung to his damp forehead and cheeks. "You honestly believe he would stay with you if he didn't have to? If you didn't have a mouth to kiss or a body to fuck?"

"Stop!" Keith demanded. "Stop, it's not true. I - it's not!"

"Food and sex are only temporary pleasures. He'll get bored of you eventually. Eat too much of a certain food, he'll get sick of it. Sees the same face each and every day? He'll grow bored of it. Just you wait, wonder eyes. Just you wait."

Keith clasped his hands to his ears and collapsed to his knees. "Stop, stop, stop. Lance is mine. I can't lose him! I can't, I can't. You can't take him away from me again."

The world around Keith blurred. The sounds muffled then muted. His head was spinning with doubts and the awful things he heard. Just a warm mouth. Just a body to fuck. As dispensable as a scrap of food. Eat too much, the taste becomes a bore. Bore, unneeded. Bore, unwanted. Keith the bore.

It wasn't until seconds - minutes? - later that Keith snapped out of his trance via a familiar voice which rung in his ear. "Keith! Keith, it's ok. It's not true. Don't listen to him. I'm here, I'm here." Lance's hand entwined with his own. Keith squeezed. Warm skin, long fingers.

Keith blinked awake. He was happy to be greeted with Lance's face, but, simultaneously, dreaded it. "I'm sorry." Keith said, pulling Lance's hand,once again, to his mouth.

Lance shook his head. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"I - I know, just... Let me say it. Please."

Lance paused, then nodded in agreement. "Let's get you out of here." He whispered, hoisting Keith back into a standing position.

"Lance, you don't have to go with him." Nico called. Though he couldn't see Lance, Keith had a feeling Nico could sense his brother’s presence in some form. "You're no longer bound to him. Stay with me. Stay with us." He gestured to Jordan, who poked his head out from behind Nico's legs. He looked particularly young and boyish hidden behind his much older companion.

The corners of Lance's lips tugged downward, his gaze holding sadness beyond comprehension. He let go of Keith and took a step toward his family. "I'm sorry." He muttered, though he knew they couldn't hear. "I love you, but I can't leave him. Even if I can, I won't. And, yes, there is such a thing as love. I should know, I've found it."

Lance turned to Keith. He held out his hand palm-up. Keith took it. Soft skin, bony fingers. Brown skin against peach. Two boys connected by flesh and heart. ‘I can't lose this’, Keith repeated for what felt like the millionth time.

"He says no." Keith translated.

***

On their way out of the house, Keith caught Mr. McClain's glower and hastily averted his eyes. Lance and Keith's hands unhooked as they made their way down the hall and to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vol. 6 coming soon


	6. Vol. 6

_Well I've lost it all, I'm just a silhouette_

_A lifeless face that you'll soon forget_

_My eyes are damp from the words you left_

_Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest_

_Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest_

_~Daughter / Youth_

***

**_(A/N): Slight NSFW. Nothing too bad tho._ **

***

Lance couldn't fly properly.

It was both perplexing and a pain. A miracle and a curse. One of the few pluses of being a ghost - the few, far and in between benefits - was the ability of flight. Few if none knew the bliss of hovering mid air no longer restricted by forces such as gravity. A peacefulness like no other. But, like all good things, it didn't last long. As they drove home from 452 Sanders Way, Lance was saddened to discover this flightless fact. If he tried to push off the ground, he would levitate only a second before collapsing. And, as an extra log for the flame, not walking for who knew how long had greatly hindered Lance's sense of balance. Walking was hard! How had Lance never realized this? He must've taken it for granted like everything else in his lifetime.

Not only was Lance now an untrained gymnast atop two wobbly stilts, but he felt sick. The illness, it haunted him. Took him. Wrapped its clammy palms around Lance's neck, squeezing until his skin was black and blue. It wasn't as if it hurt per say, rather the memory bore a hole into his chest and mauled at the wound with its infected claws.

Nico... It was such a shock. How did Lance not know? And how often were these... rituals taking place? Lance knew he was doing some creepy voodoo crap, but nothing to this extent!

He never noticed.

How the hell did he never notice?

Now that he thinks about it, Lance's mother, Chloe, and Mr. McClain were in the house while the last skirmish took place. Perhaps they... traveled to another dimension while it happened? Honestly, Lance couldn't explain it and he didn't know if he wanted to understand.

Keith pulled into the driveway of his home and stepped out of the car without a word. Lance followed, accidentally banging his head against the window after attempting to phase through it. He couldn't do that either? Man, physics blew.

Lance got out of the car properly and followed Keith inside. Silently, they winded down the messy halls, chipped, white wallpaper, and edgy posters until they got to the bedroom. Keith spontaneously flopped head first onto the covers. Emitting an exasperated groan, he asked, "What time is it?"

"Seven thirtyish. Why? You tired?"

"You're not?"

"I'm... overwhelmed." Lance admitted. "Plus, I'm never tired... well, actually. I kinda am now. At least, I think I am. Is this what it feels like to be tired? I l can't remember."

There was a pause. A long, heavyweight pause. Eventually Keith spoke up, his voice muffled in his pillow. "I don't feel well."

"Me neither."

"Can we talk about everything tomorrow?" Keith asked, words barely comprehensible.

"Yeah. Whenever you're feeling up for it." Lance responded in a whisper. He debated sitting in the spot beside Keith.

"Can you turn the light off?"

"Sure, your majesty." Lance said, but not in a condescending way. All he wanted was for Keith to feel comfortable, which felt like an impossible task at this point. Lance walked to the lamp and switched it off. The room was overcome by darkness.

Lance got in bed beside Keith. It was true he did feel somewhat drowsy, but his mind was too cluttered with other things to notice. Scooting under the covers, Lance got a view of Keith's long hair splayed across his pillow. He reached out, then hurriedly jerked his hand away. His fingers twitched in the darkness.

Keith rolled until the two were face to face, giving Lance a good look at Keith's pale features. To Lance's surprise, the other boy's eyes were still open; subtle slits behind long lashes. Though his irises were a dull grayish color, they were entrancingly accentuated against the pearly whites of his eyes.

"Are you sure you want this?" Keith's voice was deep and alluring.

"Want what?"

"This." Keith whispered, though there was no one but them. His stare remained steady on Lance's.

"You aren't being very specific." Lance couldn't help but gawk as his body took a mind of its own by inching ever so closer.

Keith breathed sharply in and out, the warmth felt on Lance's own cheek. "This... existence." Keith clarified.

"I still don't know what you're talking about." Lance didn't know he had placed his palm on Keith's until he felt knuckles twitch under the weight of his palm. Keith's shoulders tensed at the touch, but soon relaxed as Lance ran fingers up and down the skin around his wrist.

Lance's gaze darted down then back up in one swift movement. Keith said nothing. Lance's heart was in his throat, getting faster, faster, faster. He leaned closer, drawing circles in Keith's palm. Keeping their eye contact, Lance's hand slid across the covers to Keith's waistline. Creeping up his side, Lance's fingers snaked below Keith's jacket and made its way to the subtle curve and soft skin of his hip. Even the barest sliver of peach between the parting of his clothing was enough to excite.

Lance's eyes closed. Shortly later he was kissing Keith. Pushing his fingers against the boy's spine, Lance yanked Keith's body to his. Their chests touched and legs entangled in a whirlwind. It was no subtle kiss.

Lance wanted to make Keith feel good, so that's what he did. He wanted to touch every part of Keith, so that's what he did. Tugging a handful of hair with one hand, and cupping a neck's nape with the other, Lance stuck his tongue in Keith's mouth, and they kissed like there was no tomorrow. As though Lance was going to vanish, and this was all they had left. Some strange, concealed thing harbored deep within them both emerged in a violent wave that buried them before they had time to know what was happening.

Lance's form began skyward. He didn't realize it either until Keith's gasp of surprise jolted him to attention. Lance's pupils dilated to an impossible size as he hovered facedown, Keith just below. The two, breaths rapid, held eye contact for a moment, their minds blank.

Then Keith tugged Lance to him, allowing their lips to touch once more. Keith yanked the fabric of Keith's jacket collar. He felt Keith arc his back, which resulted in a wave of heat.

"Do you love me?" Keith asked between breaths.

Lance paused. Not sure of what drove him to ask the question, Lance answered honestly, "Yes."

Lance reached under the seam of Keith's clothes and pressed a warm palm against the bare chest beneath. Keith sat up and pulled his jacket and shirt off. Lance kissed the crook of Keith's neck.

"Do you love my body?" Keith asked, his voice low.

"Ya." Lance spoke into Keith's ear before kissing him on the mouth.

When their lips parted, Keith managed another question while running his knee up Lance's thighs. "Which do you love more?"

Lance jerked his head back. Keith kept his narrow, siren gaze trained on him. He was anticipating a response. A response Lance didn't have. A response that could very well not exist. Keith drove his knee upward, slamming it into Lance's crotch. Lance stifled a gasp as his vision went white. The pain overtook the shock soon enough, and Lance prevented wailing in pain by biting his bottom lip. After a moment of waiting, Keith repeated himself, "Me, or my body."

"What are you talking about?" Lance demanded, voice hoarse. "You know the answer already."

Keith was silent for a moment, his stare shooting through Lance like a bullet. Lance felt himself gradually losing momentum, sinking lower and lower. The spark was gone; the energy drained. He couldn't hold himself up for very much longer.

Keith averted his eyes and shuffled back to his side of the bed. "Never mind." He grumbled. Lance had a feeling the snappy remark wasn't meant for him, but to himself rather. Not knowing what else to say, Lance let his body abide the fundamental law of gravity and fall atop the covers.

Keith faced away from Lance. His bare back was on full display, shoulder blades rounded foreword. Lance heard him take a shaky breath as he pulled his blanket over himself.

Lance watched the slow rise and fall of Keith's side before finally closing his eyes.

He couldn't sleep.

In the morning, Lance made pancakes.

A simple meal that Lance was all too familiar with. Providing for himself when he was younger, due to his numerous siblings clawing for their share of Mrs. McClain's meal before he found his seat at the dinner table, Lance was quite good at cooking. At first he was embarrassed by the skill, for he thought it would make him appear unmanly. Many of his older brothers teased him when he would help his mother in the kitchen. But, later on, Lance realized something important. If they didn't know how to cook, then the joke was on them. Lance hoped they enjoyed having ramen and microwave dinners for the rest of their lives, because that's all they'll ever be able to prepare. Lance, on the flip side, was a chef. No need to go out when he could concoct a gourmet meal on a whim.

But Keith was an odd thing. Not only was he useless as a limbless pole dancer when it came to cooking, but he liked a certain sort of food. Fast food, soda, beer. And, when he did on occasion break from his habit of inserting greasy, garbage food into his system, he liked the plain, plain, and plainer. Vanilla cupcakes with white frosting. A burger with nothing on it but beef. MM yogurt, but with the yogurt and MMs separated. Like, who does that? A soulless person, that's who.

So, despite how much it pained him, Lance made plain pancakes. No syrup, no blueberry, no chocolate chips, not even whipped cream. No. Whipped. Cream. Keith's kitchen didn't even own the stuff!

On a paper plate, Lance stacked three pancakes. Boring one, plain two, humdrum three. Though his nose scrunched at the plain smell and eyes squinted at the blinding, plain color, deep down, - deep, deep, down - Lance hoped Keith would like it. Especially after last night. Lance didn't know if Keith was angry, sad, or what, but he wanted to make him feel better. After all the crap he'd been through, Keith deserved it.

With pancakes in one hand, silverware and napkins in the other, Lance maneuvered to the bedroom. It was difficult to keep steady without the ability of hover, but Lance managed. When he got to the bedroom, he tiptoed in as silently as humanly possible - non-humanly possible? The room was dark. Keith's figure was shrouded in shadow, but the light from the doorway casted a white outline along the curve of his side. Lance wondered what he was dreaming about. Him, he hoped, but doubted it.

Lance shuffled to the bedside, back hunched, breath held. Placing the plate on the nightstand beside Keith, Lance got a good look of the other boy's face. He looked adorable! Even with the trail of drool that ran from the corner of his mouth to his jawline. Lance tapped him once on the shoulder. "Rise and shine, Princess."

Keith didn't move.

Lance pouted and knelt. "Yo, mullet." Lance spoke louder, but still fairly softly.

Once again, Keith showed no signs of waking.

Lance was fed up. He leaned mere centimeters from Keith's ear and yelled, "Wakey wakey, mother fucker."

Keith's eyelids blinked open. Lance's body drew back, a rosy color tinting his cheeks. "What a way to say good morning." Keith muttered, his voice low and drowsy.

"I - I made breakfast." Lance stuttered, motioning behind him to the plate of pancakes. "Pretty sure they're cold now, but that's whatever."

Keith closed his eyes, inhaled, then opened them again. "What time is it?" He asked groggily.

"Um..." Lance looked from one end of the room to the other. When he spotted the alarm clock resting on the nightstand, he read it. "3:02 AM."

"Jesus..." Keith stirred, rubbing his hand against his half shut eye. "Why are you up this early?"

Lance paused, unsure of what to say. "3:00 is early?"

"Yes, Lance. Yes it is."

"Oh..." Lance averted his eyes. "I forgot."

"You forgot? What time do you normally wake up?"

"N - no... it's... I just forgot, ok. It's weird. I told you time works differently for me. It - it's kinda - I don't know how to explain it. I just forgot."

Keith sat up with a long exhale. He rubbed the back of his neck, shoulders slump. With a yawn, Keith stretched his arms and looked to his left. He spotted the breakfast. "You made pancakes? How?"

"With the pancake mix you got," Lance said, "obviously."

"I didn't know I had pancake mix."

"I guess we're both forgetful, huh?" The corner of Lance's lip tugged into a smirk.

"Yeah, I suppose so." Keith agreed, smiling softly.

Keith reached over himself to grab the plate, then placed it on his lap. His legs crossed criss-cross-applesauce and bare chest arched foreword sleepily. Lance handed him his plastic fork and watched in silent anticipation. Because he was a ghost, Lance had no real desire for food, but that didn't mean he didn't still enjoy cooking and watching other's faces light up at the taste.

Keith cut a triangle piece from the first pancake. Lance watched as he brought it to his mouth, chewed, and swallowed with an unreadable expression. He found himself biting his lip, unsure of how Keith would react. Though Lance knew he shouldn't have been so anxious, he was. Finally, Keith turned to Lance and smiled. "It's good." He mused, bright face illuminating the dark space around them. At that moment, Lance was a dark shade of red.

Keith looked down and ate bite, after bite, after bite, until nothing else remained. Placing the finished plate on the counter, he flopped back into a lying position and looked at Lance with his eyes still half closed. He was silent for a moment before saying, "I think it's time."

"Time for what?"

"To tell them."

Lance knew exactly what he meant. Now that he could interact with objects, even with others in the room, he could finally reveal himself to the others. Allura, Shiro, Hunk, Pidge, Coran. His mom. It was what anyone would want. To be noticed. Still, how come Lance felt so... reluctant? "I'm not sure." He admitted. "Maybe we should... wait a bit longer?"

"Lance, we've been waiting for weeks now."

"Yeah, but..." Lance's thumb circled the center of his palm. He couldn't look Keith directly in the eyes. "Can we... I just want to do something first."

"Do something? Like what?"

"I want to take you to the aquarium."

***

_Icing over a secret pain_

_You know you don't belong_

_You're the first to fight_

_You're way too loud_

_You're the flash of light on a burial shroud_

_I know something's wrong_

_  
~Third Eye Blind / Jumper_

***

Lance loved sharks.

Like, really loved sharks. But it wasn't the sort of love that could be traced to its source. Like love in general, it was complex. Too complex for the limited capacity a human mind could comprehend. But, doesn't that apply to all forms of love? From the love of a family to the love of a food. Most times, it's not as simple as people make it out to be. Most times.

As Lance and Keith passed silently down the dark, luminescent jellyfish hall, neon lights from the tanks and ceiling basked their features in a blue/red glow. Keith's red hoodie looked purple, as did Lance's blue sleeves. They lingered beside tank after tank of mindless, yet breathtaking displays. The mysterious moon jelly, the surreal looking purple striped jelly, and - Lance's favorite - the frisky blue blubber jelly. Keith pointed to one of the lion mane jellyfishes and said in a murmur, "That's my favorite."

"Ah, the giant jelly. A good choice." Lance nodded with approval. A pair of kids ran passed Lance laughing and screaming, ignoring the displays and their parents altogether. When they vanished around the corner and the two were left alone once more, Lance continued, "It's the largest species of jellyfish known. Its tentacles can easily stretch further than a human's entire body."

"You know a lot about your jellyfish." Keith paused in front of the lion jellyfish tank and turned to it. His narrow eyes and jet black hair shone with blue light. Lance felt himself heat up. "How big was the biggest ever found?"

"The bell - its body - had a diameter of 7 ft 6 in," Lance answered in a snap, "and the tentacles reached to about... 120.4 ft? No! 121.4 ft!Yeah, that was it."

"Big." Keith commented.

"Eh, but not nearly as big as me." Lance stated.

Keith scrunched his nose and smiled. "You fuckwad." He said, but in an endearing way.

Lance smirked back. They continued down the hall.

Lance thought back to his mother's sweet, round smile. Much like Lance himself, Mrs. McClain loved the ocean. She grew up by the sea and treasured her share of memories spent on the beach and in the water. She even assigned each child of hers with an inner oceanic creature.

Penelope was a dolphin, smart, fun, and morally good. Rio was a seal, spreading happiness wherever he ventured. And Lance was a shark. Speedy and ferocious, but courageous at the same time.

Lance and Keith turned the corner. They exited the darkness and found themselves under a dome of wonder. Above them, below them, and to the sides of them existed glass, blue, and creatures of every size and shape. Keith's eyes were shimmering pearls as he craned his neck upward. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Lance bit his lip and turned his head down. He kept his focus on Keith as he shoved his hands into his pockets. It was beautiful, he had to admit, but Lance knew there was so, so much more. So much more that Keith couldn't begin to fathom. One thing, for instance, that stood before Lance at that moment. That moment that seemed slow, yet too fast. Much too fast. Why were seconds so short? Why did everything happen in seconds? Lance wanted to hold onto each moment, treasure it, as his mother did her memories. Why was that so difficult?

Lance averted his eyes and watched as a stingray's white belly rubbed against the glass, its mouth opening and closing as it disappeared from view. "I always loved this area in particular." Lance took back his hands, crossed them, and craned his neck upward, taking in the familiar yet distant scene around him. "It's like we're in the tank with the sharks and fish. Better yet, it feels as though we're in the sea, floating endlessly through the unknown."

"That's deep."

"Both literally and figuratively, yes." Lance agreed.

"Lance, I swear to fu- I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

"Aw, I know you love me." Lance grinned.

Keith paused. The sparkle in his eyes vanished. Lance felt his soul crumble. Me or my body? Those words echoed in Lance's mind. A scratched record. A video stuck on repeat. It was awful, and Lance didn't know what to make of it. Of course he loved Keith, but how could he make him believe it? Better yet, how could he convince himself?

The pair, slowly, quietly, passed into the next area. Because it was early, they were more or less alone. But the next room was different. An open space with multiple tanks, activity booths, and exhibits formed a half circle at one end of the area. The two kids from earlier ran and screamed as their parents snapped pictures from above the touch tank. Bored teens stood cross armed as they waited for their lagging families to stop reading the lengthy information at each and every exhibit. Elders pushed other elders in wheelchairs, young couples made out in plain sight, and a class of deaf kids watched as their teacher signed various factoids about the sea.

But the main attraction was to the right. A tank, the biggest Keith had ever seen, lined the wall from corner to corner, floor to ceiling. Inside, schools of fish synchronized through the water in near perfect unison. Stingrays flapped their featherless wings, avoiding the bug eyed sharks and large, multicolored fish. But they weren't the incredible part. They didn't land close.

A large, gray creature with a white belly and a back covered in white spots swam by. A couple of people, who leaned against the glass in wonder, snapped pictures. They didn't bother to turn their flash off, though the signs clearly indicated to. In addition, a combination of kids and adults thought it necessary to jab their fingers against the glass when something swam remotely close by. Sometimes, Lance hated humans.

Keith and Lance turned to the glass. Keith's features were, again, highlighted with a dark-blue hue. "This is Kaltenecker." Lance explained, gently pressing his fingers against the glass. "A whale shark, the giant of the deep."

Kaltenecker flipped its tail. Lance greeted his old friend by placing his forehead against the glass. The gigantic beast, unable to see Lance in return, swam passed. Lance sighed and lifted his head.

"Kaltenecker? I thought your stuffed shark was Kaltenecker."

"Kaltenecker Jr, actually. This is Kaltenecker senior, isn't she a beauty?"

Keith looked forward into the endless blue of the tank. A school of silver fish whirled by, casting a shadow over his face. Finally, he responded with an affirmative, "She's gorgeous"

They were silent for a moment, letting the majesty of Kaltenecker sink in. She was smaller than most whale sharks, racking in at about fifteen or so feet. "I came here all the time when I was younger." Lance whispered, breaking the silence. "I saved up my lunch money to buy tickets and came to this exact tank. I could watch her swim for hours."

Keith nodded. Though there were many people, Lance only saw one. He was so hyper focused on Keith's words, face, and mannerisms that other noises blurred into obscurity. White noise that he didn't spare a notice. "So that's why you always skipped lunch."

"You noticed?"

"Well, yeah. I offered you food practically everyday. You always refused." Keith muttered. "I was worried about you."

"Aw, that's sweet. You cared about me?"

"Yeah, you doofus." Keith shoved his hands into his pockets, keeping his gaze trained at the seemingly empty spot ahead of him. "You were my friend. My overbearing friend."

Lance shrugged, partly ashamed, partly flustered. "Me and Kaltenecker were like, best friends. Whale buddies. Lance and Kaltenecker, the unbreakable duo. I named her myself."

"Oh, really." Keith smirked.

"Hells to the yes. I was like her manager or something. I made her who she is today." Lance's smile faded. "I only wish I could've done more."

Kaltenecker glided with unprecedented grace. Her giant mouth opened wide, sucked in a mouthful of water, then closed. Her unique spots - which Lance knew all too well - swam away with her. Lance sighed. Keith glimpsed at him from the corner of his eye. "What do you mean?"

Lance shook his head. "Well... I don't know. You see, I bought Kaltenecker Jr here. At home I was missing the real Kaltenecker. But, you know, It's not like I could've brought her with me. So I got the next best option. At the gift shop, they sold these stuffed sharks. Sadly no whale sharks, so I got a sandbar shark instead. But, well, it wasn't the same."

Keith stayed silent. Though his face revealed no reaction, Lance knew he was listening.

"I've always felt bad for the animals here." Lance tapped his fingers against his jeans. "Kaltenecker and the others, they seemed so... lost. Well, not lost per say. I don't know how to explain it. Each and every day, all they do is swim in circles, wait for food, eat, swim in more circles, rinse, repeat, so on. They don't have freedom. They don't have the freedom... the adventure that comes with the ocean. They're just... lost. Especially Kaltenecker."

Lance paused and sucked in a breath before continuing. "Whale sharks have never done well in captivity, and I can tell she longs for more. It may sound stupid, but I know. I just do. When I was... when she could see me, she would always swim back and forth in front of the glass where I stood. She recognized me, I could tell. She did tricks and talked to me, and I would laugh and cheer back. I was the only source of entertainment she had, because I was the only one who kept coming back. I didn't tap on the glass or blind her with flashes. I was just there. You know?"

"She deserves freedom." Keith agreed.

Kaltenecker moved across the glass again. She seemed slower than normal. Sadder...

"She is why I wanted to become a marine biologist." Lance pressed his forehead against the glass. "To help and learn about these creatures instead of putting them on display." Another breath in. "All I wanted was to protect."

"I feel the same way." Keith finally spoke.

"About what?"

"About feeling lost." Keith closed his eyes and took his hands from his pockets, crossing them over his chest. Like always, he wore his favorite fingerless gloves. "I'm not really psychological and shit, but yeah, I can relate."

"How so?"

"Lost." Keith's voice sounded almost angry. "I'm in an endless loop of school and work. It's like... I'm not sure. I've pushed myself so hard and focused all my energy on the present, that I haven't had time to think about the future. Unlike you, I have no clue what I'm fucking doing."

When Lance didn't answer, Keith opened his eyes and said, "I'm sorry. Got a little heated there."

"No, no. It's ok!" Lance insisted. "Please continue."

Keith gripped his arms, digging his nails into his pale skin. "It's just... You had everything so... planned out. Your future was so certain. But, me? Hell, I haven't done a single productive thing in my life. School, sure, but what's the point really? To get a job in some office? That's just not me."

"Well, what makes you happy?" Lance asked, inching closer.

A school of fish flew by the two as if they were nothing. Just another cog in a never ending existence.

Keith was silent in thought for a moment before answering, "Music."

"Well, there you go."

"What? Like, a musician? Nah. Well, I did think about it once when I was younger.

"Well, what's stopping you?"

Keith unfolded his arms, letting them fall freely at his sides. Finally, he turned his attention to Lance. For a brief moment, everything around them was pitch black, the only light coming from behind their chests. Keith, red. Lance, blue. The two colors collided in the middle creating purple. "Nothing, I guess." Keith answered. His light flickered bright, then dimmed.

Lance snapped from his dreamlike state. The aquarium and all its noise returned in a harsh, foamy wave. "So, why not chase it?"

***

_For what it's worth I'm sorry for the hurt_

_I'll be the first to say, "I made my own mistakes"_

_For what it's worth I know it's just a word and words betray_

_Sometimes we lose our way_

_~Liam Gallagher / For What It's Worth_

***

Lance's legs were dangling from the roof.

Keith sat next to him, his frayed bangs swaying gently with the afternoon wind. The two boys leaned against one another, their eyes closed, listening to the music that hummed in their ears. Keith wore his right earbud and gave Lance his left. They were listening to the playlist. Their playlist. It was them, the music, and everything else.

The air was chilly and Lance could feel it. It was odd. Experiencing these everyday happenings that, before, he forgot... existed. The passage of time, hunger, temperature. It was all coming back to him, one by one, little by little. Lance didn't know wether to be grateful or terrified. Two states of mind which fought for control.

The sun was setting. It was time.

Lance pulled the cord from his ear. Keith turned and raised an eyebrow. He paused the music.

"I'm ready." Lance said at last.

"For what?"

"To talk."

"About what?"

"You know exactly what."

Keith's lips thinned as his head rotated back around. Below, a group of elementary schoolers were setting up two soccer goals in the middle of the street. They didn't have the proper ball, so they used a deflated basketball instead. They laughed as they jumped and ran, either not noticing or not caring about Keith on his roof.

"About what Nico said? I'll pass."

"Ok." Lance leaned back, letting the last of the day's light kiss his brown cheeks. "How about we talk about what you said instead."

Keith had a distant look in his eyes. It was colder than anything Lance had or will have felt. "Right. Yeah, you're right. Just..." A car zoomed passed, causing the kids to scatter. The engine rose then faded as it drove into the horizon. Keith continued, "You can't age, can you?"

Lance's fingers twisted into a fist against the roof tiling. "I - uh - I'm not sure."

"Right." Keith closed his eyes and exhaled. His chilly breath was visible in a cloud of white vapor. "And there's nothing keeping us together now, is there? Nico said so himself. We are no longer connected."

"I mean... sure, yeah." The sun was no more than a yellow sliver behind the cityscape.

"Then what's keeping you here?"

"Excuse me?" Lance pushed himself up. "Keith, you know the answer to that."

"Do I, though?" Keith held his palm up and out as the last evidence of sun disappeared, shrouding the neighborhood in darkness. "Why would I be asking if I was for sure on the answer? I know what you're going to say and what you think you should say, but how the hell am I supposed to know your true intentions if you keep saying what you think I want to hear?"

"But I'm telling the truth." Lance insisted as the kids scrambled back into their homes. "It's you, Keith. And I know that you don't want to believe me, but it's true. I love you, Keith."

"Ah, of course. The classic 'I love you'. I think people toss around that phrase too often."

"I think it's been muddied by those who don't take it seriously."

"Let me guess. You aren't one of those insincere few?"

"Of course not." Lance brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and tucked it behind his ear. "And I know you feel the same way too."

"How about years from now?" Keith asked. "Or months? Or even days? How will you feel when I'm old, grown, and can barely stand on two feet? When I'm different and you're stuck... well, you're like this?"

"Honestly, Keith. I can't tell the future." Lance's hand lifted to touch Keith's knee but swiftly drew back. "But I would never leave you. No matter what. So come life or death, I'm always going to be here. And if we somehow separate, then I'll find you. You have my word."

"Is that so?" The corner of Keith's lip twitched as if it wanted to smirk. "What if I... teleport across the galaxy?"

"Then get me some machine parts, 'cause I'm building a rocket ship."

"How 'bout the center of a volcano?"

"Well, I better get to inventing a suit that can withstand the heat of magma." Lance crossed his long legs. "It can't be that hard."

"What if I reincarnate into some... epic rocker?"

"Then get me a ticket, I'm going to a show. And, you know, make out in the dressing room? Maybe? Possibly?"

This got a smile from Keith, which he promptly hid behind his fist. Lance took his wrist and gently pulled it away. "Why are you hiding your smile?" Lance asked, meeting Keith's gray eyes. "It's cute."

"Not really the look I'm going for." Keith explained, his eyes glued on where Lance's fingers pressed against his skin. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but his cheeks were tinged with a shade of crimson, more beautiful than any sunset.

"Alrighty then, Baddie Mcbadboy." Lance let go of Keith and leaned back. Lance tilted his head to look at the other boy, resting his cheek on his own bony shoulder. Like always, Keith's muscular figure looked stunning. Lance was always jealous of bodies such as that.

Keith's smile faded. He was silent for a moment, his thick eyebrows scrunched together in contemplation. Finally, surprising Lance, he asked, "Do you believe in true love?"

"Oh, um... I - It's..." Lance's mind was reeling. "I don't know."

"I don't." Keith admitted. "That's one thing me and Nico agreed on."

"Well, whatever. All I know is I like you and I don't want to lose this thing we share."

"Yeah, sure. I don't want to lose this thing either, it's just... are you sure this is enough?"

"What do you mean?"

"Eternity, Lance. Eternity. Are you content with this... this existence, each and everyday? An endless loop of me, you, and nothing else. Everything gets dull eventually. As they say, there's no point in beating a dead horse. Don't you want more? More beyond just this? Your friends, family?"

"Keith -"

"And, what if I died? You would be left completely alone. I - I don't think I could bare that, Lance. You deserve better than this. I can't be the one holding you down due to this false... concept of love."

"Keith, I -"

"Nico was right. I'm a phase. I - I can't keep you for myself forever. You're a person, Lance. You deserve so, so much more than what you've gotten. Like Kaltenecker, you're a giant trapped in a box and I want to see you free. That's all I want, Lance. Your freedom. Nothing in return. Your happiness is enough. Lance, I can't bare it!"

Keith collapsed into Lance's shoulder. Eyes wide, Lance held his trembling form as he sobbed. He felt the coldness of Keith's tears against his cheeks and heard the awful sounds as he gasped for breath.

Mourning came like lightning. There was no preparation. All Lance could do was hold Keith close and stroke a hand through his tangled mess of hair. "Shh. It's alright, Keith. I'm here, I'm here." Lance brushed Keith's bangs aside, planting a kiss atop his forehead. Keith swallowed, his bottom lip trembling.

Keith sat back up. "I'm sorry." He muttered, face red and puffy. "Don't know what came over me."

"Hey, Keith." Lance reached out and grabbed Keith's shoulders, reconnecting with Keith's dejected gaze. "You cut yourself sort. Keith, you are amazing, and don't you dare say otherwise. If you want to know the truth, then here you go. I don't know what the future brings and, frankly, I don't give a damn. I mean, who needs those other fuckers when I have all I want right here in front of me?"

Keith's laugh was soft. "You're fucking crazy, you know that?"

"Crazy for you, yeah." Lance smirked, more than overjoyed over Keith's regained composure.

"And a flirt." Keith lowered his voice and leaned in to kiss Lance. Lance couldn't help but giggle as he kissed back.

Keith's phone rang. He left Lance and reached into his jean pocket. "Aw, poo. I liked where that was going." Lance scrunched his nose and stuck out his tongue.

"It's Shiro." Keith informed, glancing down at the contact.

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Who's that? A work buddy?"

Keith's thumb, which was mere centimeters from answering the call, froze. "What did you just -" Keith turned, his eyes popping from their sockets. "Did you just ask who Shiro is?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance's Funeral consists of 8 Volumes plus an afterward if I ever get to it. I tell you this so you can have an idea of when it's going to end and how long it'll take to complete. Don't worry this series WILL BE COMPLETED. Thanks again for reading up to this point. See you soon for the next update. ;)


	7. Vol 7

In the end  
Everyone ends up alone  
Losing her  
The only one who's ever known  
Who I am, who I'm not, and who I wanna be  
No way to know  
How long she will be next to me

~Fray / You Found Me

***

Keith had lost the letter.

He realized this a while back, after his and Lance's little adventure to 452 Sanders Way, where they had their lovely ‘meet n’ greet’ with Lance's satanic brother. On the car ride home, unbeknownst to the younger, non-satanic McClain, Keith reached to feel a familiar weight in his pocket only to discover it was no longer there.

Normally, Keith wouldn't dwindle over an event such as losing a scrap of paper, but this nearly drove him to the brink. First Lance was put in danger, and then Keith lost his most precious possession. The only thing that kept him grounded during this chapter of love and chaos. Or, one ghost rather. But now, what was he to do? The problems wouldn't stop piling, building a tower to the sky, the heavens, and beyond.

Keith answered his phone.

"Keith! You picked up!" Shiro exclaimed in another place, existing, though not visible. "What's happening, man? Pidge told me you've missed a lot of days of school. Is something wrong?"

"Shiro!" Keith yelled, though it was unnecessary. "Come over. And bring everyone else, including Coran. There is... there is something we need to tell you guys. For real this time."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down." Shiro's voice was low and robotic through the speaker. Keith and Lance leaned in - shoulders touching - to listen. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

"Please, Shiro." Keith begged. "I need to see you badly. This is urgent, like, real urgent. I don't know who else to turn to. I'm... I'm kinda freaking out here, Shiro. Please. I need your help."

"I'm on my way." Shiro said at once. “I'll inform everyone else. Hang in there, Keith. You don't need to explain yourself now."

And, with that, Shiro hung up. He was always the first to take action and help a friend in need. Keith was impressed by it. Envious even. That's why they were such good friends. No, brothers.

Keith shoved his phone into his pocket then brought his shaky palm to his temple. His head was spinning. Everything around him was a spiral of madness that he was desperately trying not to be consumed by. He ran his fingers through his hair, a veil between his stare and the pavement road beneath them. The night was cold and bleak.

"Ok..." Keith finally spoke up, his breath a white, airy cloud against the black landscape. "What is going on?"

"No, no. I remember Shiro." Lance insisted, though he held no tone of confidence. "Yeah, Shiro. I know him. Sheerios, Shiro, Sheerios. I don't know what came over me."

"How about he rest of our friends? Can you remember them?"

"Yeah, yeah. There's Pidge, Hunk, Allura... and... is that it?"

"No, no, no. I said his name seconds ago! Our professor. Think hard, Lance."

"Our professor? I go to college?" Lance brought his knees to his chest, his hands wrapped around the back of his skull. "Wait, of course I do. Well, yeah, I used to. Pidge was in our class. With, what's her name? Mrs. Glenn! And Coran! Coran, Coran, the gorgeous man."

Keith let out a sigh of relief. "Good. So you're not going completely Alzheimer on me. Your friends are coming over. They should jog your memory... hopefully."

"Wait. So, are we seriously..." Lance's voice trailed. "Are we seriously doing this?"

Keith took a deep, shaky breath. "Yes. You ready?"

"Yes." Lance said with a nod. His posture shifted. The once discombobulated, mess of a man gained an air of confidence. The sort that sings the tune without the words. "Let's do this shit."

***

Pidge and Hunk were the first to arrive. They came speeding down the road, the headlights of their white Chevrolet illuminating the path ahead of them. Parking soundlessly on the road in front of Keith's home, Pidge exited the passenger side door and Hunk the driver side. When Pidge spotted her friend on the roof, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. "Keith? Why are you on the roof?"

Keith glanced down. He jumped from the side of the building, hung from the ledge, and let go, landing effortlessly on the grass. Lance followed. He was much less graceful.

Pidge put her glasses back on as Hunk joined her on the lawn. "We came as soon as we heard." Hunk said, looking unceremonious in his yellow robe and cat slippers.

"Yeah, but you didn't answer my question." Pidge pushed. "Why in the name of all things technological were you on the roof?" She sounded sarcastic, but Keith knew she was genuinely concerned.

"It's nothing. Where are the others?"

"On their way." Hunk said, checking the time on his phone. It was late. "Shiro went to pick up Allura and Coran. Maybe... fifteen minutes?"

"Can't wait that long. We need to do this now." In a sudden outburst, Keith clutched both Pidge's and Hunk's wrists, causing their faces to transform from concern to bewilderment.

Lance, who loomed just behind Keith, cupped his fingers over Keith's shoulder and whispered, "Don't worry. Everything's fine. You're fine. I'm fine."

The tension in Keith's stance loosened. He closed his eyes and inhaled a shaky breath. Lance's voice was music. A smooth melody he could play on repeat and never grow tired of. One that made his hairs stand on end.

"I'm sorry." Keith let go of his friends' wrists. "Please, come in."

Hunk and Pidge shared a nervous glance. They did that sometimes. All the time, really. "Alright." They said in unison, following Keith inside.

They passed through the mess filled hall and the mess filled kitchen, only to eventually arrive in the mess filled living room. This time, the visit being on a whim, Keith prepared no seats for his guests. Not even a stack of unread books or a tower of non-discarded boxes. But, this time, he didn't need any. "Alright. I'm just going to come out and say it. So, yeah. Don't freak out and yada, yada. I see ghosts."

Hunk and Pidge fell silent, their expressions unreadable. Keith took the opportunity to close his eyes and continue. "Yes, I know I said this last time, and I also kinda, sorta said I was lying, but I'm serious. I see ghosts. Well, two actually. Or more. I can't really tell if they are or are not unless they tell me, or something. Maybe I've been seeing them all my life and never even realized. I'm not sure. The point is, I've met two ghosts - one of which I didn't know was a ghost - and who was staying with this psycho psychic that killed a squirrel with rabies, causing the wall bleed, which is kinda weird, because the other people in the house didn't even notice. But that's not important, because I'm rambling, and the point is I can see Lance."

Keith opened his eyes. As expected, his friends' jaws were agape and eyes dumbfounded. Not because they believed the claims Keith was issuing, rather, they were confirmed on what they feared above all else. Keith was going insane. "Keith, I -" Pidge's words came in unsure fragments, her mind too overwhelmed to form a conclusive response. "Wow."

"I have proof." Keith cut in. "And, yes, I know I said that last time too, but I'm serious this time." He picked up a sheet of music from the floor and flipped it to the blank backside. Grabbing a red pen from his pocket, Keith held it forward for a tense - though brief - second, then pivoted to his right. Addressing Lance, he said, "Take it."

Lance eyed the paper. His bottom lip trembled and fingers shook uncontrollably. He gulped before meeting Keith's eyes.

"Don't worry." Keith whispered. "Everything's fine."

Lance's body noticeably relaxed.

He took the pen, his cold skin brushing against Keith's warm fingers. When Keith let go, Hunk and Pidge let out horrid gasps. The pen. It was floating mid air.

Lance took the paper and squatted, laying it flat on the hardwood floor. Holding the sheet down with one hand, Lance scribbled something with his other. Not knowing where to begin, he wrote the first thing that came to his mind. Bending over his body to look, Keith glanced down at what the ghost boy's crazy mind conjured. Keith smiled.

'It's blue. Da ba dee, da ba dead.'

Damn Lance, that asshole.

"Lance!" Pidge gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. The horrid handwriting was undeniable; the lame humor irrefutable. This was Lance, no doubt about it. "I - it's really you?"

'I missed you, gremlin.'

Pidge burst into tears. "Lance!" She wailed, darting in the direction of where Lance held the pen. When she reached him, she slipped through his body. Keith saw her shiver, the hairs on her arms standing on end.

"I can't touch living things." Lance explained.

"He can't touch living things." Keith translated. "Well, except for me."

Lance smirked. "Yeah, he touches me real good."

Keith's face grew bright red. "Honestly, Lance. Is it seriously the time to be saying things like that?"

Before he had time to answer, Pidge collapsed into Keith's arms, her talon-like fingers clutched tightly to Keith's bunched-up shirt fabric. He had forgotten just how short Pidge really was. How frail she could appear. Most times, she seemed bigger. "I'm so, so, so sorry!" Pidge cried, tears gushing downward and a trail of snot hanging from her nose. With a sniff, she continued, "I should have never doubted you. I - I thought you were going crazy! I thought I was going crazy! Am I? Is this real? Oh, please tell me this is real."

"It's real!" Keith assured, too startled to move. He let Pidge bawl her eyes out, his clothes taking damage from all the bodily fluids smeared against the fabric. Her grip was as sturdy as iron.

A moment later, Keith was startled when he felt another presence sneak up from behind, and pull them both in for a hug in their big, strong arms. It was Hunk. His face was in even worse shape then Pidge's. "I love you all! Keith, Pidge, and Lance! You're my bestest friends in the world!" He blurted out, lifting them both in the air. Keith had forgotten just how big he really was.

Keith looked at Lance. He was smiling. Keith smiled back. "I'm done with the tears." Lance said, standing. He walked over to his friends, a fond, distant gleam in his eyes. He spread his arms and joined the group hug. Though he could only touch Keith, Keith knew his friends could feel his presence beside them. They didn't need to say a word.

When they let go, Keith reached for Lance's hand but swiftly pulled away. Seeing this, Lance took his hand instead, locking his fingers in the other's. Lance's frigid skin sent a shock across the length of Keith's arm. "I'm done with hiding." He added.

Keith felt his heart contract in his chest. At that moment, he had a realization. Keith was done with all this bullshit hiding too. "Guys, We have something else to tell you."

Hunk and Pidge, wiping their messy faces with the back of their hand, turned their attention to Keith, then to his hand. Not being able to see Lance, it looked as though he had his hand curled against noting. But of course they knew better.

"Yeah?" Pidge said, making an O shape with her mouth to match her owl-like eyes.

"We're... Well, we're, um..." Keith's gaze darted to his shoes. "Me and Lance are, like..."

"Dating." Lance whispered, as though Keith had forgotten how to say the word entirely.

"Dating."

Keith had no idea what his friends would think or what they would say, but surely nothing like, "Wait... You two waited till literal death to finally hook up?"

It was Pidge who said this, and Hunk nodded to display agreement. "W-what?" Keith felt his cheeks begin to boil, the hand that was clasped with Lance’s growing clammy. Lance snorted beside him. One of his renowned, hideous laughs.

"What? You seriously thought we wouldn't notice?" Hunk asked, his tan arms crossed over his broad chest.

"Yeah, y’all two are way too oblivious." Pidge adjusted her glasses on the brim of her nose.

Keith and Lance turned to each other, held eye contact for a moment, than burst out laughing. What was so funny? Keith hadn't a clue. All he knew was how great this feeling was. For once, ever since Lance's funeral, everything was beginning to feel alright. Normal. Happy. More than happy. This was wonderful. Lance was Keith's boyfriend.

Lance was Keith's boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

"Ok, but, who's going to tell the others?" Pidge asked once they all calmed down enough for her to be heard.

"Us. All four of us. Together, just like before. Just like the times we lost. Just like the new experiences to come." Keith said, extending his hand for Pidge. She grinned and took it. Hunk grabbed her other hand, completing the chain. Connection on a both physical and mental standing. Keith could feel all their energies seeping in through his veins. Connection. It was an odd sensation. New, yet familiar. ‘The sight’, Nico had said. Was that the only power Keith had awoken, or was there more?

A knock came from the door.

***

Walking through a crowd  
Then you look around  
See there's no one left  
We live and then we die as one  
Yeah, we all live under the same sun

~Nothing But Thieves / Amsterdam

***

A Chevrolet and Honda rode side by side.

Hunk, in the driver's seat of his parent's white Chevrolet, planted his foot hard on the gas. Keith, in his own dented, black Honda, saw this and sped up accordingly. Pidge poked her head out from the white car's window. Holding her large, brimmed sun hat with one hand, she stuck her tongue out and screamed, "Bleh!"

Lance, who sat in the passenger seat of the black car, was rightfully offended. "Keith, are you going to let her do that?"

Keith, his fingers drumming on the leather of the wheel, turned his attention to the rearview mirror. "No, I'm not going to do anything about what Pidge did. I'm driving."

Shiro and Allura, seated in the backseat, caught on to what Keith was laying down. In unison, the duo's heads emerged from their respective windows, gifting the other car with a crude hand gesture and a simultaneous, "BLEHHH!"

Team Honda laughed while team Chevrolet scrunched their noses, betrayed and disgraced. Lance adjusted the volume of the car's radio, blasting the music loud enough to make ears bleed. He then switched the channel until he found something that suited his fancy. "Hell yes!" He gleaned as the driver groaned.

The other car turned to the same station and blared the music louder, louder, louder, much to Keith's dismay. In unison, Lance, Allura, Shiro, Hunk, Pidge, and Coran sang at the top of their lungs, "Up in the club, we just broke up, I'm doing my own little thing. Decided to dip and now you wanna trip, 'cause another brother noticed me."

"Keith, you better sing along." Lance nudged his shoulder partner, his lips puckered and eyebrows raised at an impossible arc.

"I'm driving."

"It's called double tasking. Come on, I know you know the lyrics. Everyone knows the lyrics."

"You're not the boss of me." Keith spat just as the infamous chorus kicked in.

"'Cause if you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it. If you liked it, then you shoulda put a ring on it. Don't be mad once you see that he want it. 'Cause if you liked it, then you shoulda put a ring on it. Oh, oh, oh, OH, OH, OH!”

Keith kept one hand on the wheel and cupped the other over his ear. "Jesus fuck, guys! You're killing off my last remaining brain cells!"

Lance turned the volume up to its maximum. "IF YOU LIKED IT THEN YOU SHOULDA PUT A RING ON IT!"

"Aaaaaaaand, there goes his sanity." Allura giggled, her slender nails running through her white, wavy hair.

As the song blared on, both cars raced side by side under the cloudless, Texas sky. With the intent on disembarking at the beach, the trunks were stuffed with essential towels, umbrellas, surfboards, and more. Being the first Saturday after Lance came out of the ghost closet, team McClain and friends took the opportunity to chill. Or play, or surf, or whatever the hell they wanted. Why? Because, dammit, they were ecstatic.

When they pulled onto the sand, Lance was the first to get out. Shiro and Allura startled, not used to objects being handled by unseen entities. When the car was switched off, the music vanished - thankfully - and the others hopped out.

Hunk and Pidge dashed toward the water in an instant, floaters and surfboards in tow, leaving Coran to haul the other junk from their car. With help from Shiro, he pulled a bag full of towels and chairs from the trunk. Keith watched, taking the opportunity to feel the cool sand sift between his toes.

"Hey, Shiro, can you help me out please?" Allura asked. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she held up a bottle of sunscreen.

"Of course, princess." Shiro said, taking the tube and squirting a glob of sunscreen in the palm of his hand. Allura flopped belly-down on her towel, her head propped on her arms, brown back protected by the shade of the umbrella.

Shiro leaned over her and lathered the sunscreen from her shoulder blades down her spine. Lance saw this, grinned, and nudged Keith. "Hey, Keith. Need a hand with anything? Wouldn't want your baby bottom skin to get all sun wrinkled, now would we?"

"I'm fine." Keith's cheeks reddened. "And don't compare my skin to a baby's bottom, idiot."

"Pushy, pushy, pushy." Lance stuck out his tongue. "You're no fun."

Once Coran had everything securely out of the cars, he coated his nose with a line of white sunblock and nearly tripped over his sandals as he rushed to join Hunk and Pidge. The three of them laughed, splashed water at one another, and tackled each other under the surface. Keith couldn't help but smile.

Shiro and Allura, skin thoroughly coated, motioned to Keith. "We're planning on going surfing. You joining us?" Shiro asked.

"I'm fine." Keith politely vetoed. "I don't know how to... um... swim, so."

"That's ok. How about you, Lance... if you're still here?" Shiro turned to Keith's right. Lance was on his left.

"I'm good."

"He's good." Keith translated.

"Alrighty then. Feel free to join us at any time if you've changed your minds." With their hands locked, Shiro and Allura sauntered off with one last blinding smile. Those two were supermodels, Keith swore.

Lance and Keith took shelter under the shade of the umbrella. The sand was hot under Keith's hairy legs. The beach was much different now than at night. He thought back to his and Lance's first kiss and the chilly breeze that had fogged their breaths. The memory was surreal.

"You don't have to do everything I do, you know." Keith sat down and leaned his weight against his palms.

"Eh, I like hanging with you, though."

"Yeah, but the ocean is your life. I don't want you to be held back just because of me."

"Whoa, chill dude. I would pick you over water any day. It's just a bunch of hydrogen, oxygen, and crud."

Keith's eyebrows furrowed. He sat up and turned to face his ghost boy. "You're acting weird today."

"Am I?" Lance asked, folding his legs. "'Cause, it sounds to me like you're the one who's acting weird."

"You just called the ocean a bunch of water."

"Yeah, so?"

"So? You love the ocean."

Lance exhaled and shook his head. "Why are you over analyzing things all of a sudden? Can we talk about something different?"

A scream sounded followed by a splash. Hunk had lifted Pidge onto his shoulders and thrown her far into the sea. Spitting out a mouthful of water, Pidge retaliated by snatching Hunk's ankles and yanking them off balance. The friendly giant fell backwards with a screech, creating a massive tidal wave. The others, pushed back by the force of his enormous mass, howled in amusement. Things were going good. Almost too good. So, why did Keith have an underlying sense of dread?

"Ok." Keith shifted his attention back to Lance and his paper-thin skin.

Unlike the others, he wore his usual attire. Army green jacket and blue jeans. He seemed out of place in their setting. A polar bear in a jungle. Lance's hand, which blended into the brown sand beneath it, fiddled with a stray twig. Like always, he needed to be in constant movement.

"Tell me a story." Keith finished, the heat from the sun scorching his dark hair. He would never understand the appeal of the outdoors.

"Oh..." Lance's voice was low. "Like what?"

"Something about your family. The beach, the aquarium, whatever."

"Well... let's see." Lance's fingers brushed his clean-cut chin. "I - I don't really... I'm having trouble thinking of one. Help me out."

"When was the first time you came here?" Keith didn't realize his shoulders had tensed until Lance looked at them. He inhaled and exhaled, his shoulders loosening only slightly.

"I -" Lance's eyes darted from Keith, to the sand, to his shoes, and back to Keith. "I can't remember."

"Ok, ok. Maybe it was just too long ago. Tell me about the aquarium instead."

"Aquarium?"

"Yeah, aquarium." Keith's fists balled, taking a clump of sand between its fingers.

"Which aquarium?"

"The aquarium!” Keith snapped, then, just as quickly, recoiled. "Kaltenecker. Tell me about her."

Lance blinked, his eyes a foggy, blue landscape. "Kaltenecker?"

No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Everything was going so well, why was this happening now?

Keith's hands flew to Lance's shoulders. He startled, eyes wide. "How many siblings do you have?"

"Uh..."

"Lance, please." Keith felt his throat tighten. It was painful to speak, but he had to. "Your mother. Think about your mother."

"Ma..." Lance breathed. "Round face, crooked teeth, a smile that could clear away the fog. Her cooking... her... uh..."

"Yes! Her empanadas. You love her empanadas. Lance, please remember."

"I - I - I don't know what that is. No, no, no. Keith, what's going on with me?" Lance leaned forward, gripping Keith's forearms. His thin eyebrows scrunched together, his eyes on the verge of tears.

Keith lowered his voice, sparing only the briefest of glances to their friends. They were further out into the sea now, paddling belly-down on their surfboards. "We need to get to your house. Now."

"Y - you just want to leave them?"

A breeze blew. It filled Keith's ear and swept his bangs. It did nothing to Lance at all. Dead. The word crept up his spine and whispered truths. Dead. Lance was dead. Keith was dead. Everything, everyone was dead.

His memories were dead.

Their dreams, dead.

Keith's body acted on its own accord. It stood, dragging Lance with it. "Wait! How about them?" Lance used his one free hand to point back at his friends.

"They don't need to know. We'll get everything right again. They don't need to worry. They've done enough of that as is."

"So have you." Lance whispered, his form fading. For a long time in a while, Keith could see completely through his head. The horizon cut across his cheek.

"If no one's left to worry, than things will never get done." Keith took Lance's other hand, his skin cold. Ghoulish. "Let's go. We're going to see your mom."

"Ma..." Lance nodded, tightening his grip.

Sparing one last glance to the others, the pair darted across the sand and leapt into their car.

***

Who will fix me now, dive in when I'm down?  
Save me from myself, don't let me drown  
Who will make me fine, drag me out alive?  
Save me from myself, don't let me drown

~Bring Me The Horizon / Drown

***

Keith's phone was in a state of constant buzzing.

About halfway through the trip from the beach to the McClain's residence, it begun. First, it was but mere texts from one or more people. Then, as time continued and no answer was gifted, it swelled into a swarm of calls, texts, voicemails, cetera. "Shut them up." Keith demanded, twisting the knob of his car radio. The music blasted above the traffic and shook his jaw.

Lance took the phone, turned it over, seemed to forget how it functioned, then switched it off with a pull of his finger. "We should tell them. They're worried."

"No time. I don't want them tangled in this mess. It's my responsibility."

"No, it's no one's responsibility." Lance leaned forward in his chair. "It's our business as well as theirs."

"No time." Keith repeated, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

The street before Keith narrowed, vision fading in and out of nothingness. The letter. It spoke in his mind. Line for line, every point, curve, space in the lettering. How he wished he could read it. To feel its crinkled surface against his fingers. But it was gone.

Lance isn't, Keith reminded himself, not yet.

Keith took Lance's hand; they hovered above the gearshift, fingers entwined, heart line clasped against leather. "Hang in there." Keith whispered, not knowing he was doing so.

"Together."

Miles passed in silence. Keith knew his way well. Growing up in a town, being raised by himself, and driving illegally at a young age did that to him. It was only a matter of time until his car pulled up to the infamous house, on the infamous street, and (you've already heard the whole spiel).

452 Sanders Way.

Keith and Lance's hands finally parted - much to both of their dismays - as the driver pulled into a spot lining the street. After a scrappy job of parking, the two got out and gently shut the door behind them. They met glances over the roof of the Honda, then snuck a look at the front entrance. It was a fairly new memory for Keith, but he wondered if Lance recalled the sight of it at all. His blank expression and slumped shoulders hinted at either.

Keith walked across the lawn, slow, stopped at the entrance, breath in, and raised his fist. The material of his glove bunched in his palm as he hesitated inches from the wood door. Breath out. Keith knocked.

A woman appeared, arched nose, raisin skin. Keith's jaw fell open, his throat concocting the first syllable of the word he wanted to speak, but couldn't. "Who are you?" The woman snapped, chin held high, eyes directed downward, meeting the quiver of Keith's pupils.

"Keith." He managed, fingers grasping for the end of his jacket. "I - um... is, uh -"

"Well, spit it out, boy." She said, not out of annoyance, but because the bluntness was a second nature.

"Is Mrs. McClain here?"

It took two tries for the woman to get the words out. "No. You need to go."

"But -" Keith stuttered. He turned his attention to Lance, who looked just as, if not more, stunned. "Why?"

"Look, kid, it's nothing personal." The woman took her hand from the doorknob and used it to flatten the frayed ends of her gray-streaked hair. "Keith, right? Mr. McClain is going to be home any minute, and I don't think you want to be here when he does. Trust me, you need to leave."

Keith's mouth opened and closed like a fish in the water. He needed to get in. It was for Lance, but how could he explain?

Keith moved to speak, but only got the first word, "Is -" when another, familiar voice cut in.

"It's ok, Chloe." Nico, his form hidden in the shadow of the woman's, whispered. His voice was like a spider in Keith's ear. "It'll be quick."

Chloe startled and leapt forward, her skeletal body surprisingly agile. Keith jumped too, but caught himself before he doubled back onto the brown grass. "Te voy a matar, Nico! Stop sneaking up on me, boy!"

"He’s a friend. He’s coming in to retrieve something he left." Nico lied, all the while keeping his hollow eyes trained on Keith.

"But, Nico." Chloe started, then switched to Spanish. "’You know what he did last time.’”

"It's fine. It'll be quick." He responded in English. As his pale skin shimmered in the blackness of his home, Keith wondered if Nico had ever been outside.

Chloe hesitated, shifting her balance from foot to foot. The wrinkles around her mouth deepened as she spoke, "Fine. But no more than five minutes."

Keith nodded, unsure of whether to bow like a dumb ass or reply with a squeaky, thank you. He settled with, "Of course, ma'am."

Chloe scoffed, the narrow lines of her upturned nostrils blaring. She made way for Keith, then closed the door behind him. Lance followed, successfully getting through without being sensed.

"He'll be here soon." Nico whispered in Keith's ear, sounding unintentionally terrifying. His fingers brushed Keith’s shoulder, making his hair stand on end. "We don't have much time."

They took a few steps forward into the living room. When Chloe disappeared down a hall and was out of earshot, Keith stopped. "I didn't come to see you, Nico."

Jordan - who Keith then realized was hidden behind Nico's legs - poked his head out. "Hello, sir."

"I need to see Mrs. McClain." Keith stuttered, ignoring the freckle faced ghost. "S - something's happening."

"Yes, yes, I know all about it. Come, come. Hell, you're slower than a sloth on the dance floor." Nico snatched Keith's wrist - rather forcefully - and tugged him along.

Keith's arm was nearly yanked from its socket as he was pulled across the carpeted floor, down the hall, passed the aggravatingly placed couch, and to his and Lance's room. Nico was wearing a striped, long sleeved shirt, but Keith spotted something snake from underneath the sleeve. It was long, nearly reaching to his palm. A scar - a new looking one at that - reddened and bunched Nico's otherwise clear skin. He stared at it, not knowing how to feel.

When the three of them - four of them - got to the bedroom, Nico slammed the door shut. Keith took the opportunity to yank his wrist from Nico's grasp and put a few extra feet between them. "You know why I'm here? Really?" He asked, unconvinced.

"You came sooner than I anticipated. Energy, energy, that's what you need. But you weren't nice to me, so why should I be nice to you? Hmm? You think that's fair?"

"I don't need energy, or whatever." Keith answered, ignoring his question. "I don't need you to kill another small animal, or make the walls bleed, or summon a god damn demon. Something's happening to Lance. He... he's-"

Keith paused, his attention drawn to Nico's activity. Nico bent below his bunk and pulled out a sharp blade. Unlike the other one, it was no butter knife. It looked like something a butcher would use on his particularly firm meat. Keith winced as a glint of light flickered at its point.

"What's happening to Lance?" Nico grunted, snapping Keith's gaze from the blade back to him.

"He's losing his memories."

Keith's heart sunk as he watched the knife slip from Nico's hand and begin its descent downward. Nico jumped back, his foot centimeters from where the blade hit the ground with a heart-shattering clang. Lance's brother, eyes big as frisbees, stumbled to the floor. Grasping tight to the knife's handle, he asked, voice small and hoarse, "How many?"

"I'm not sure. A lot."

"And so soon." Nico muttered to himself. He brought his thumb to his mouth and bit it, eyes looking a something yet nothing.

Jordan, who Keith had forgotten was there, looked at the crouched Nico from behind. His eyebrows were scrunched together in worry, yet he had no power to set things right. Keith doubted if anyone did.

"He's weaker than I thought." Nico stood, posture atrocious.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Keith asked, his shoulders tensed.

"His soul." Nico explained, running his finger up and down the blade's surface. "It's struggling between life and death. This life and the next."

"Wait a second! Is he talking about reincarnation right now?" Lance dragged his hand along his scalp. "I don't understand this at all. What kinda religion does he practice anyway?"

Nico cupped the blade in his hand, its edge sinking into his palm. Red blood oozed from the injury. Nico didn't seem to notice, or perhaps he didn't care. "Death and life. Life and death. One cannot live without the other."

Keith stepped forward, took Nico's hands, and pulled the knife away. "That's enough." He said, ignoring Nico's grimace. "How do we stop it?"

"HA!" Nico laughed humorously. "Stop it? Stop it you say? There is no way to stop it! Don't you see, mortal? Lance is dead! Done for! There is no 'stopping it'. It's just a matter of time before he goes away completely."

Nico lunged forward, but Keith swung his body around and out of reach. He lifted his knife-holding hand in the air, far from Lance's brother. He didn't know what he was planning on doing with the knife, but whatever it was, Keith was going to make sure it didn't happen.

"Give it back." Nico snarled, his clenched fists white at his sides.

"He's your brother! How could you give up on him?"

"Keith, please." Lance cut in, eyes darting between him and his brother.

"I didn't give up on him!" Nico shrieked, causing Keith to stumble backwards. "I've tried, and tried, and tried, and tried. Night, day, dusk, dawn. There was nothing I could do. No way of curing his sickness. No way of reconnecting his body and mind. He's dead! He has always been dead! And yet... And yet. You appeared." Nico's voice gradually softened until it was no more than a mutter. "And I knew. I didn't admit it to myself, but I'm not an idiot. I knew it was Lance with you. I didn't want it to be true. True, true, true. But it was all true. Because nothing can ever go my fucking way."

Nico sank to his knees. He lifted his bloody palm to his mouth, eyed it, then dropped it. A concentration of red trickled down his skin, gathered at the end of his finger, and splattered across the floor. "I knew he was dead, yet I let my hope construct stairs to nothing."

Nico's throat made a horrible sound as he sobbed. Hot tears gushed down his cheeks, his long, black hair clung to his face.

Jordan ran to Nico's side - or did he drift? Not daring to touch the weeping boy, the ghost crouched beside him, face unrecognizably distorted and the bottom part of his legs transparent. "He's gone, he's dead." Nico wailed, his voice nails against a chalkboard. "Gone, dead, dead, gone. There's no coming back now. Lance's Funeral is coming. The fucking real one."

"There has to be another way!" Keith insisted, dropping his arms to his sides. His knuckle contracted where it gripped the blade's handle.

Nico wiped a bloody palm against his cheek, leaving a smear of crimson running from the side of his nose to his ear. "There isn't!"

"But there is..." Jordan's voice seeped through the walls and lifted from under the floor.

"What?" Keith snapped to attention. "There is a way?"

"No, no, no, no, NO!" Nico jolted to his feet, eyes ablaze with blue flame.

Keith looked at Lance - who was too stunned to move - then back at the others. "No, tell me."

"I said no!" Nico sneered. "Are you fucking suicidal?"

"Please, Nico." Jordan begged, tugging his sleeve. One of the gashes, which ran from Nico's wrist, revealed itself, but only a little. "At least tell them."

Nico was silent for a moment. "What did he say?" He asked Keith, not bothering to glance in his direction. "I can't hear him properly."

"He told you to tell us." Keith translated.

Nico sucked in a breath, his skin shimmering with sweat, tears, and blood. "I can't. Not with him here."

For a moment, Keith didn't know what he was talking about. Then Nico glanced from him to his right. Lance was on Keith's left. "No. If you're going to tell me something, you can tell him too."

"It's ok." Lance spoke, recovering from his baffled state. "I'll go."

Keith opened his mouth in protest, but nothing came out. Lance smiled softly, brushing his fingers along Keith's cheek. "It's ok. Stay strong."

And, with that, Lance left. Nico watched as the door pulled itself open and gently pushed closed. Keith waited, expecting - hoping - Lance would materialize before him like he did before. But that didn’t happen. Keith was alone. Their connection was broken.

Keith didn't like it.

"How do I save Lance?" Keith said, not a question as much as a demand.

"I've already told you." Nico hissed. "Life cannot exist without death. Death cannot exist without life."

"Yeah, I know. That doesn't answer my question."

Nico raised an eyebrow, sending Keith's skin crawling. "Or, perhaps it does."

"Excuse me?"

"I think you understand more than you're letting on, mortal." Nico picked up his foot and let it hover just above the wood floor. Moments letter, it slammed down, clambering with all the force of an elephant.

Keith inched away. "I'm not here for your riddles. Tell me the truth. The full truth."

"Life and death, death and life." Nico sung. "One cannot exist without the other."

"I heard you already!" Keith's shoulders stiffened. "Start making sense."

Nico shoved his finger at Keith, his legs jostling him foreword. Before Keith had time to react, he felt Nico's finger on his chest. "How do you think a soul can live on without a functioning body? Or have you forgotten your little boyfriend is six feet under?"

Keith shuddered. An inkling of understanding was inching its way into his brain. "Oh..." Was all he managed.

"I know a ritual." Nico continued, "I know a lot of rituals. Want to know the one I've never used? Hmm, K E I T H?"

Keith said nothing.

"Soul/body restoration. You want to know why?"

"Not really."

"Because it's dangerous!" Nico took his hand from Keith's chest and flailed his arms outward. "Because heaven forbid I save anyone's life! Heaven forbid I keep a ritual that could mean immediate demolition for both the host and the soul! Because, fucking shit if I have any morality!"

"I could give my body to Lance, and he would live?"

"MAYBE!" Nico waved his hands in frustration. "And you would DIE."

"But Lance will live?"

"THAT'S WHAT I JUST SAID!" Nico spat. "Or he could DIE along with you!"

Keith nearly fell. He widened his stance. His legs wobbled and hands trembled. "What's the chance that it will work?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Nico ran his sleeve against his cheek. "You would DIE either way."

Yes, Keith knew that. And, yet, he didn't seem to care. "So this is how it ends? I never would've imagined. It's ironic, really."

"No, you are not doing it. You think I would willingly let you die, mortal?"

"You killed a squirrel. How am I any different?"

"Don't be stupid. That squirrel was going to live a miserable life anyways. If not that, it was going to be captured and killed. I don't murder for the hell of it."

"So the creature was useless?" Keith snapped, dropping the knife but not realizing it. Nico spotted the blade, then noticed Keith's red face. "How do you think I'll be if Lance dies? I don't think you've noticed, but I have no life to live without him. He does. He deserves so much more!"

"Stop saying that!" Nico shrieked. "Stop saying you're useless! Useless, useless, useless. That's all kids rant about nowadays, right?"

"Why the fuck do you care? You hate me!"

"Ha! You think I hate you?" Nico laughed.

"Ok, then what do you think?"

"I think you're an imbecile. And I think you're fashion choice is an atrocity. A... and I think you are close to Lance, and I think he cares about you for some fucking reason." Nico clicked his tongue. "Oh, young love. So obnoxious. So stupid. So oblivious."

Keith heard a bang followed by angry shouts. His head snapped right, line of sight falling on the shut, bedroom door. With eyes wide and head reeling, Keith made out a deep, male voice which boomed throughout the residence.

The color in Nico's face drained. "We're too late. He's back."

 


	8. Vol. 8

I'm livin' for the only thing I know  
I'm running here and I'm not quite sure  
Where to go?  
And down I know I'd like to be in tune  
Just hanging by a moment here with you

~Lifehouse / Hanging by a moment

***

**_(A/N): WARNING! This part contains violence and homophobia. If you’re not comfortable with that, please skip the first part of this volume. The other three sections should be ok._ **

***

Keith's life was coming to an end.

That's always how it was supposed to be. As the law of equivalent exchange dictates, a life can be revived only by something equally as powerful, and what's more powerful than life? Keith finally understood. Or perhaps he had always known. Keith was going to die so that Lance may live on. The only thing that was a surprise was how soon the exchange occurred. No time to truly grasp existence. No time to experience all the ups and downs that came with adulthood. Or maybe it wasn't too early. Maybe it was the right moment for him. A destiny, in whatever melodious intent it unfolded.

The bedroom door slammed open, and Keith, Nico, and Jordan jumped at the sight of Lance. He wore the same outfit, had the same hair and skin tone, and sported the same eye and nose shape, but something was different. His features were transfigured into an alien expression mixed with confusion and fear. "What's going on?"

Screams came like explosions from down the hall. Lance shut the door, but it wasn’t enough to stifle the shells as they dropped.

"Father's back from work." Nico said, grim, a shadow fallen over his eyes. "You need to go. Without being noticed, preferably."

"Why is he so mad?" Keith's limbs quivered. He could barely hold himself upright.

"Why do you think?" Nico sneered. "Maybe next time you should take better care of your stuff before you leave."

Keith's skin turned white as parchment as realization freed itself from his scrambled thoughts. The world spiraled until it collapsed. "The letter." He breathed, then turned to Lance, "Lance, it's the letter."

"What letter?"

"The letter..." Keith swallowed. "Y - you..."

Keith was petrified as he looked on at the melting pot of guilt, confusion, and something unexplainable in Lance's eyes. He had forgotten. Keith couldn't believe he had forgotten. "I'm sorry..." Lance's voice trailed. "I - I don't remember. I - I can't -"

The ghost boy didn't have time to finish his sentence when a crash sounded from behind the bedroom door. Keith's head snapped back, heart pounded, and a trail of sweat ran from his hairline down the brim of his nose.

"What was that?" Lance fumbled back, his legs transparent. He lifted off the ground for a moment, came down, then hovered back up. Not seeming to notice, Lance clutched the fabric of his shirt, breathing in and out unevenly. "What is this feeling? W - why am I so... Who is that?"

"I don't care!" The male voice thundered.

Lance rushed to the door before Keith could stop him. He yanked it open and was gone in a second. Keith followed after him despite Nico's boisterous protests. Lance ran as if he had harbored intention, though Keith knew his slipping mind could not weave the mask of coherence to this array of auditory madness.

Keith followed Lance down the hall into the living room, Nico and Jordan on his tail. He wanted to shout out, but didn't have the proper words. Instead, he watched Lance scramble soundlessly foreword until the horrid scene pushed back its veil.

Everyone stopped; Lance beside Keith, Nico and Jordan just behind them. Mr. McClain, Chloe, and Alice McClain all turned, their mouths — once ablaze with contention — now hanging wordlessly ajar. It was a while before someone got their bearings straight enough to speak. "What are you doing here?" Mrs. McClain's voice was no more than a whisper, her throat and expression pained, gray-streaked curls low against her cheeks, frayed, and greasy.

"I told you not to come." Chloe murmured, her feet inches away from a shattered, glass vase.

Keith's hand shot for Lance's, pulling him back. Despite his attempt, Lance stood firm. His focus was trained at his father's face, nothing more. An existence of two. Two minds. Two hearts. Two tucked away autobiographies with page after page of outrage. It was just him, Mr. McClain and the letter he held in his clenched fist.

"I don't know his name." Lance's eyes were blue fire. "I don't know his face. I don't know him, so why do I want to kill him?"

"Please..." Keith tightened his grip. "We need to go."

"You!" Mr. McClain boomed. His heavy foot slammed against the floor, his thick, sturdy finger jabbing in Keith’s direction. "Get away from Nico, maricón!"

"W - wha..." Keith let go of Lance and took a step back. He fumbled against Nico, who was numb and stationary in his horror. Mr. McClain's face became strained, veins throbbing on his neck and forehead.

"You came back for another victim?" He spat, shaking the letter between them furiously. "Since you no longer have Lance to corrupt, fag?"

The word filled him with chills; with an unparalleled anger inexpressible by description alone. How could  
a vastly simple word — the pairing of three distinct letters in the English alphabet — have such a lasting bite? One that sinks far below the skin, through the muscle tissue, and deep within the bone. So far until it's a part of you; your existence. Language. Language is the gravest evil.

"Jone, please." Alice McClain begged, but her voice was too soft to be heard over Mr. McClain's.

"You're not welcome in this house!" Mr. McClain stepped closer to Keith, disgusting spittle flying from his teeth. His nostrils blared above his scraggly mustache and thin lips. "Go back to hell where you people belong!"

Keith didn't have time to respond. Mr. McClain raised his fist and swung at Keith. Frozen in place, he watched the knuckled hand as it came barreling towards his face like a bullet. Keith's muscles tightened and eyes pinched shut in preparation for the impact. But, before Mr. McClain made contact, Lance pushed Keith, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

For mere seconds after the fact, Keith found himself in a state of confusion. Had he been hit? It didn't feel like it. Lance was on top of Keith, his chest pressed against his own and legs entangled. Keith felt a tinge of pain at his side where he had fallen.

Mr. McClain's momentum made him stumble, his once pinched eyebrows now high, traveling to his hairline. No human could move independently like that, and if Mr. McClain had half a brain cell, he would've noticed. Instead, he regained his balance and sped to where the two boys were sprawled across the floor. Just as Jone McClain's foot slammed down, Lance and Keith rolled in opposite directions, narrowly avoiding having their skulls crushed between his boot and the hardwood.

Keith scrambled to his feet and spun just as Mr. McClain readied another punch. Jone McClain's arm lifted to his chin, and his elbow drew back to build the most power. But, as he was about to move, something - someone rather - grabbed hold of his arm, yanking it back. This gave enough time for Keith to scurry away, putting a safe distance between him and Lance's father.

Mr. McClain pulled himself free and turned to see Nico, anger reaching its boiling point. Nico backed away, rightly terrorized. Mr. McClain clutched his shoulders and pushed his son off his feet. Nico toppled over, landing with a thud, blood from his hand wound and face splattering across the ground and nearby furniture. "I should've known!" Mr. McClain's boot pushed into Nico's chest, forcing his sick lungs to gasp for air. "I should've known you would turn out to be one of them. Your fucking satanic books and clothing. How is it that I helped create two fucking pansies?"

"Get away from him!" Keith shrieked, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He rushed forward and pushed Jone McClain with all the strength he could muster. The older man faltered, releasing his foot from off the blue-faced Nico. He gasped, clutching his chest. Chloe ran to his side, hauling him off the ground and away from the fight.

Jordan ran to Nico and flailed his arms around his legs. He was bawling his eyes out, too upset to see or think. Nico held him tight in a protective hug.

"Don't tell me what to do, maricón!" Mr. McClain took the letter, — Lance's letter — and Keith watched as he tore it to shreds before his very eyes. "You killed Lance, and now you're taking my kids out one by one."

"I didn't kill him!" Keith stood his ground, glancing only briefly at the scattered paper spread at Mr. McClain's feet. "No one killed him, but you were the one to make his life a living hell."

Mr. McClain's eyes widened in a furious rage. "You fucking -"

Alice McClain stepped between him and Keith. Jone McClain hesitated for only a minute before saying, "This is your fault, puta! You're too much of a pansy to produce a man. You taught Lance how to cook, you taught Rio how to clean, you taught the twins to sow. If you had a single ounce of good genes in you, you wouldn't be such a useless whore!"

"Don't talk to her like that, you demon!" Lance yelled. Keith snapped his head around. He saw Lance, his lined jaw and posture portraying murderous intent.

"What did you say?" Mr. McClain looked through Mrs. McClain to Keith like she was merely a glass pane. He must have thought it was Keith who had yelled. But, if that was the case, how did Mr. McClain hear him?

Mr. McClain took a long stride forward, but Mrs. McClain stopped him in his tracks. "No, Jone. Leave him be. He did nothing wrong."

"His whole self is sick!" Mr. McClain roared. "He needs to join Lance in hell, where they both belong!"

"Don't talk about my son like that!" Mrs. McClain pushed his shoulder back. She looked ridiculously small compared to her husband.

"Don't push me, bitch!" Mr. McClain continued forward, thrusting his shoulder into her’s on the way to Keith.

Alice McClain grabbed his arm and spun him back around. She narrowed her eyes and jabbed her finger in his face. "My son is not in hell, and this young man is not sick. It's you who's the ignorant bastard!"

"Know your place, woman!"

"Rot in your cowardice, Jone."

Mr. McClain's hand flew to Mrs. McClain's head and clutched a handful of black hair between his fingers. He pulled her scalp until she shrieked, then yanked her to the side. Her stomach collided with a coffee table, and Mr. McClain let go as she doubled over, clutching her stomach. Hot tears ran down her eyes, and a trail of blood fell across her chin as she groaned, rolling helplessly on the floor.

No one saw it happen. It was too fast, Keith wasn't sure if there was a point in time between then and when Lance had his fingers wrapped around his father's neck, sending them both careening backward. Lance ran him all the way into the wall, his nails digging into the tough skin around his neck. Mr. McClain clawed for Lance's hands, mouth foaming and face purple. He thrashed desperately in his grasp, but was unable to break free. Lance was too strong and his hatred too great. "Lance..." Mr. McClain gargled, wide eyes meeting Lance's.

Lance gasped. "Y - you can see me?"

Keith, Nico, Jordan, Alice, and Chloe all stared at Lance, silent, thoughtless, unmoving.

Lance vanished.

***

Stepping forward out into the day  
Shrugging off the dust and memory  
Though it's soaring still above your head  
It is out of sight and none shall see

~Bastille / The Weight Of Living Pt.1

***

Mr. McClain collapsed.

His hands flew to his bruised neck, his lungs gasped for air, his body thrashed, limbs slammed into the wall and furniture. "Demon!" He wheezed.

Nico pulled Jordan closer, a protective arm around the boy's shoulder. Them and Chloe stood in the opposite corner from Mr. McClain, Jordan but a blur in the eyes of Nico, and invisible for the rest. Keith — who stood traumatized five feet from Lance's father — found himself in a nonmotile state. All he could do was stare in awe as Mrs. McClain reached for the end of the coffee table she had been rammed into moments ago and hoist herself upright. When she took her first step, Keith saw her stumble. She ran the back of her hand across her cheek and smeared a streak of blood away. "Get out." She demanded, taking another step.

Mr. McClain rolled over and used the last of his strength to get up on his hands and knees. Not looking up, he spat, "Whore."

Mrs. McClain lifted her left hand, yanked the golden ring from off her finger, and held it up for him to see. "Thirty two years ago you gave this to me. I was fourteen and in love. But you weren't, were you? You stripped me away from my family, from society, from my dreams. You took everything away from me, yet I can't be mad. You know why?"

Mr. McClain kept his head down. He sneered at the ground as sweat and spit dripped from his face.

Mrs. McClain motioned to Nico, inching closer as Mr. McClain inched away. "Because of him. Because of Lance. Because of Penelope, Rio, Jason, Jill, Cleo, Dan, Fin, Calla, Cindy, Candy. Because they are my world. But you? You're the meteor who wants to demolish my home, my natural beauties. To dictate their lives. To force my flowers to shrivel to ash in hell."

"It's not my fault they were touched by the devil." Mr. McClain struggled up, but collapsed again shortly after. Apparently, his recovery rate wasn't as strong as Mrs. McClain's.

"No, it's my fault." Alice McClain cupped the ring in her white-knuckle grasp. "You know why? It's because I've kept you here for as long as I have. I should've tossed you out ages ago. Get out of my house, devil."

"You can't tell me what to do!” Mr. McClain finally managed to get to his feet, though his legs shook underneath his weight. "I'm the man of the house!"

"Like hell you are!" Mrs. McClain chunked her ring straight at Mr. McClain's face. He brought his arms up as a shield, but was one moment too late. The ring collided between his eyebrows, causing him to bleed, and leaving a large, nasty gash. Mrs. McClain had quite the power behind her, for such a little thing.

Before Jone McClain had a chance to recover, Mrs. McClain took a lamp from the coffee table, yanked the cord from its socket, and chucked it at him. It hit his forearm shield, shaking on impact.

Mr. McClain bent down and took the lamp. He attempted to throw it back at her — with a lot less power and a lot less precision. Alice McClain dodged it easily.

Chloe boldly stepped from her corner of the room and moved to her sister's side. Nico pulled Jordan behind him and joined Chloe on the other side of his mother. Though he was taller, Mr. McClain seemed to shrink beneath their conjoined, looming shadow. "I won't ask again, Jone." Mrs. McClain warned through uneven teeth. "Get. Out."

"Y - you can't kick me out of my own house!"

Chloe took the lamp from off the floor and chucked it at Mr. McClain for the second time. He managed to avoid a collision with it this time, but not the cluster of other objects that then preceded it. Alice McClain, Chloe, and even Nico all joined in. They tossed furniture after furniture, from clocks to chairs. Mr. McClain — of course — took nasty damage from the projectiles. He yelped in pain as his head got knocked back by a paper weight.

Eventually, he scrambled back into the hallway and toward the front door. He seized the doorknob between his rough fingers and fiddled with it as though he had forgotten how it functioned. "Fine! Stay alone in your haunted home, woman!" He hollered when he finally managed to push the door open. Mrs. McClain launched a book at him. He cursed them in Spanish and vanished behind the doorway, nearly shaking the frame from off its hinges.

Then everything was silent.

Mrs. McClain was the first to move. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed the last of the dried blood from her lip. She then turned to Nico, took his chin in her hand, and inspected him from right to left. "Did he hurt you?" She demanded.

"No." Nico muttered, eyes blurry. Mrs. McClain wiped his face clear of blood, wrapped her chubby arms around his neck, and pulled him in for a hug. She was crying.

"Ma!" Jordan wailed, causing Keith's attention to snap another way. The freckle faced ghost was nothing but a silhouette, his voice barely comprehensible, white noise. He was there one moment, gone, whole, then a fraction of himself. This strange entity, whatever shape he took, scrambled to Chloe as a stream of tears fell from his face and disappeared before reaching the floor. "Ma!"

Jordan fell against Chloe, his small arms reaching only to her twig-like legs. She screamed and would have fainted if it wasn't for Nico, who kept her upright. She screamed even louder when the boy let go of her, a sad ora about him. Nico took his small hand and dragged him away.

Nico bent to his knees to be face to face with Jordan. His lips thinned as he shook his head. Though he said nothing, Jordan understood him completely.

"I can't do this anymore. I'm tired."

Nico stared blankly at him.

"I can't do this anymore." Jordan repeated. "This hiding. T - this disappearing. Watching people around me grow, and change, and not knowing if seconds passed or years. I'm losing my memories, I'm losing my sanity, I'm losing my family. I just want to be free. I want to see Ma."

"You can't have both." Nico sneered. "Which is it? Freedom or Ma?"

Jordan hesitated, his once transparent feet disappearing completely. "I don't know."

"Freedom or family?" Nico whispered.

Jordan's legs were slowly fading away, the nothingness that consumed them making its way to his upper half. He didn't have much time. "Take care of her."

"I will."

Jordan sniffed, lifting his blurry eyes to meet his mother's. "Promise."

"Fuck you. You still don't trust me after all this time, leech?"

Jordan's glare snapped back to Nico. He smiled warmly - the smile of fond memories and sorrow - and nodded. "No, Mr. Nico. I don't."

Nico grumbled as Jordan went away completely. "After all this time, he chose now to reveal himself completely." When Nico stood, Keith realized his cheeks were stained wet. "Morsel."

"That was..." Chloe choked on her own words. "Jordan."

Nico only stared at her. Chloe gasped, covered her mouth, and let tears trickle down her backhand.

"Ok..." Mrs. McClain said, shaking her head. "Someone tell me what the fuck is going on."

She turned to Keith. He looked back, limbs limp, mouth slack. He didn't have time to process what had just happened to Jordan, or how the McClains ran out Jone McClain. Lance was gone. For a second time, he was gone, and Keith had a feeling he wasn't coming back.

Instead of an answer, the three McClains watched Keith sink to his knees, lay his side against the floor, and curl into a ball. He drew his knees to his forehead, blank face, and arms tight around his legs.

Mrs. McClain inhaled and exhaled shakily. "He was here. I saw him. Don't tell me I am crazy." She said in her heavily accented voice.

Nico clenched and unclenched his knuckles, his focus darting from Keith, to his mother, to his aunt, and nowhere in particular. He bit his bottom lip, forcing his tears away. "You're not."

"He was here. He was alive. Mi hijo. Lance." Mrs. McClain reached her arms out, splayed her fingers, and grasped for the air.

"No, he's not." Keith finally spoke, gaining everyone's attention. "He's gone. He's always been gone."

Mrs. McClain shook her head, refusing to believe it. "I saw him! He was here, h - he -"

"HE'S GONE!" Keith yelped, shielding his ears in his cupped palms. It wasn't enough to muffle the pounding that radiated throughout his body. "Nico, you said it yourself."

"I -" Nico shook his head furiously. "He extorted too much energy. Energy, energy, energy. He's weak. He's fading. He's not gone, but he will be. To be seen by mortal eyes, that's... that's unheard of. To not be blurred..."

Keith's head tilted up. With as much power as he could manage with his sore muscles and shaky limbs, Keith propped up on his elbows and hoisted himself to his knees. He could feel blood surging through him, thick and red in his veins. "Do it." He spoke, clutching his wrist and moving his thumb in circles in search for his pulse. Soon, it wouldn't be his own, and he knew that.

Mrs. McClain, face white, glowered down at him. Keith didn't meet her gaze, but instead caught Nico's. "Do it." He repeated. "I'm ready."

Nico swallowed, his adam apple quivered against his thin neck, and eyes blackened in their hollow sockets. He knew exactly what he meant, Keith could tell. He just didn't want to accept it. "No."

"God dammit, Nico. Just do this for me. No, do it for Lance."

"You think Lance would want this, itch?" Nico demanded. "To live in a body that's not his? To have to look in the mirror everyday and be reminded of what he lost and how he is alone? I can't do that to him. I - I can not... I may be an asshole, but I still love my brother."

Keith stood up fully and took Nico's wrist. Before he could pull away, Keith yanked him into a hall away from the others. The two women watched in silence as they left. Keith led them out the door and onto the lawn. The afternoon air smelled of smoke, and the plain, gray neighborhood was silent.

Nico freed his arm and stepped back. He shot Keith a death glare, but said nothing as Keith spoke. "Look, Nico. There's a difference between Lance and me. A big difference. Namely, this." He pointed a finger at Nico's chest. When Nico snarled, Keith jabbed his finger toward the house. "You, her, Chloe, Jordan, Allura, Pidge, Hunk, Coran, Shiro, your siblings, shall I go on?"

Nico didn't answer, but Keith continued anyway. "Don't you think I want there to be another way? Of course I want things to go back to how they were. But that's impossible. Lance's body is unfit, — decomposing in a coffin somewhere — and I'm the only alternative."

Nico stared at the place behind Keith's head. He looked detached from their conversation, but answered in spite. "You do realize this doesn't guarantee anything."

When Keith thinned his lips, Nico brought two fingers to his own neck and felt around for his pulse. When he found it, he tapped his fingers to the uneven beat. After a second, he touched his pointer finger to his temple, tapped it twice, then touched Keith's forehead. Finally meeting Keith's eyes, he clarified, "His memories. They are still fading. Doing this won't change a thing."

Keith gulped, the pressure of Nico's finger weighing heavily on his brain. He pushed the hand away and took a step closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "If we wait any longer, he'll lose all his memories anyways."

"That includes you."

Keith felt himself shutter. "Yes, I know."

"And you're ok with that?"

"Yes."

"Somehow I don't believe you." Nico brought his thumb to his mouth and bit hard at the skin. Keith cringed as a stream of blood fell between his teeth. "Do you hope he'll be reminded of you because he will be in your body?"

"Will he?"

"It's a possibility." Nico admitted. "One terrible, horrible possibility. I've never seen the aftereffects of this sort of ritual. Life and death, death and life. It's the ultimate sacrifice. Ah, what a shame. Two young lives wasted, and for what? Love?" He scrunched his nose in disapproval.

"You said you loved your brother."

Nico huffed, not bothering to give such a statement a proper response.

"Does that mean you'll do it?"

"I never said that."

"But you implied it." Keith tapped his temple, mocking Nico's action. "It'll be a lot easier if you just agree now, because I'm not going to stop bugging you until you do."

Nico scratched the back of his hand hard enough to leave red streaks. His expression was less than pleased. "Nag, nag, nag. You never shut your damn mouth, wonder eyes."

That wasn't an answer, so Keith glowered at Nico's reverted eyes until he begrudgingly went, "Fine. Get in the fucking drivers seat. I don't know how to sway that metal, death machine of numbers and gears."

"Where are we -"

Nico cupped his hand over Keith's mouth before he could continue. When Keith furrowed his eyebrows at him, he said, "Rule one: no blabbering until we get there. Rule two: follow my directions, and I will consider not pissing on your grave."

Keith peeled Nico's hand away. "You're getting me a grave?"

"Not anymore." Nico snapped, stopping his way to the Honda, Keith close on his heels. They entered, Nico sitting uncomfortably in the passenger seat, looking as though he hadn't been in a car before in his life. Keith pulled his seatbelt over his chest, knowing he needed to preserve his body for as long as possible. His limbs felt detached from his body as the unsettling truth sunk in again. He was going to die today, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. This car ride was going to be his last, and the heavy, gray clouds that loomed above was the last view he was going to get of the sky. With a shaky breath, he wrapped his fingers around the leather of the steering wheel and turned the key to his ignition. The car shook and coughed to life. That's when Nico said, "Go straight, then turn left."

***

All that you desired when you were a child  
Was to be old, was to be old  
Now that you are here suddenly you fear  
You've lost control, you've lost control

~Bastille / The Weight Of Living Pt. 2

***

The sun began to fall as Keith drove.

The sun that loomed just above the horizon was a ball of red against the murky sky. Soon though, it would be gone, and all that will remain would be inky blackness. Keith thought about his red blood and blue breath. Keith's fiery, red temper and Lance's cool, blue persona. Soon the two would merge, blue trapped in red, red dictated by blue.

"Turn at the next exit." Nico demanded, fingers digging anxiously into his seat rests. Keith obliged, turning right onto an empty road.

The absence of Lance was alarming, as Keith had been stuck with him for so long. Back then, he wanted privacy, but all he craved for now was Lance's return. As they drove passed flat terrain, silent lights, and empty, wordless storefronts, Keith prayed to a being he — and everyone — knew nothing about, sure it wouldn't do any good.

It was halfway through the trip when Keith realized where Nico was directing him. "Why are we going to the beach?" He asked, not averting his focus from the endless road ahead.

"Shush. Rule one. Right up ahead."

Keith turned and waited a beat before speaking again. "You never told me why we're driving. Can't we do the ritual in the house?"

"Rule one." Nico repeated, reaching across his body to put an agitated finger over Keith's lips. Keith pulled his head away with pinched features, but didn't dare to say anything more. The beach was far, and this was his second time in a day driving there. It was also his last.

Nico reached for Keith's phone, which sat powered off on the armrest. Before Keith could protest, Nico switched it on and listened as it shook with inflowing notifications. "What the hell are you doing?" Keith's eyes widened. "Don't touch my stuff!"

Nico ignored him, instead opening the phone to read the messages. "How annoying." He said after a while of scrolling through the endless ocean of concern. "I see your leech friends are just as aggravatingly unnameable as you, 'Mr. Not-worth-a-damn'."

Nico typed something with surprising swiftness and sent it. Keith glared daggers at him. "What did you send?"

"'Fuck off'." Nico answered, holding the screen up for Keith to see. It was addressed to Shiro, who had sent the most texts and voicemails after Keith's inexplicable disappearance that morning. "He's the one who keeps bugging you. Doesn't know when to stop. Ah, mortals. Such an interestingly bothersome bunch."

"Get off my phone." Keith muttered, knowing it was useless. It wasn't going to matter in the long run, which was why he made no move to take the phone back.

A second later, Shiro called. Nico snarled at the buzzing device, with bared teeth and disapproving eyes. In spite, he answered the call with a swipe of his finger, bringing it to his ear. "Go away, Scrooge." He hung up. Keith rolled his eyes.

"Left here." Nico instructed rather snappily, turned off the phone, and chucked it into the backseat.

"This isn't the way to the beach." Keith said, pulling into the parking lot of a nearly abandoned gas station.

"I have eyes, you know." Nico rammed his elbow against the window, then doubled back in pain. He clutched his arm and grumbled, "Told you this thing is a torture mechanism. Damn humans. All they care about it war, sex, fast food, and inventing useless contraptions which inflict pain. Blah!"

"Do you not know how to open a car door?"

"No, the 'door' doesn't know how to follow my instructions." Nico kicked the compartment in front of him, lip tugged in a frown.

"How did you know how to get here if you've never been in a car before?"

"There's something called the seventh sense, fool!"

"There's also something called a map."

Nico glared daggers at the closed compartment in front of him, kicked it, and went back to wrestling with the car door. When he finally managed to push it ajar, he leaped out, stumbling for a moment before straightening himself back upright. Well, as much he could manage with his horrendous posture.

Keith followed him, locking the car with a press of a button. The Honda blinked, indicating that is was safely secured. Unsure of what they were doing, Keith trailed Nico as he apprehensively shuffled into the gas station.

The front entrance hit a bell when it slammed open by the violent swing of Nico's foot. The person behind the counter looked up from her newspaper, gave the two a once over, then went back to her important business in the sport columns. Keith wanted to scold Nico's violent tendencies, but decided to ignore it. He had one too many oil spills to clean as was.

The convenience store was like all others. Isles of low shelves holding candy, camp gear, and patriotic Texas memorabilia. The cigarettes were behind the worker women, and a wall of fridges on the opposite side of the store held the usual: Dr Pepper, Coca-Cola, and A&W root beer. Keith's tongue felt dry as he eyed the beverages. He was tempted to grab a bottle of the root beer and swig it down in a gulp, when Nico snapped him from his daze. "Gasoline. Gasoline, gasoline, gasoline. We need gasoline."

It took Keith a long second to process his words. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why do we need gasoline? Are we starting a fire?"

"Don't be an imbecile, imbecile. Of course we are." Nico's eyebrows bent into straight lines above his hollow stare. "Rule one. Go get matches."

Keith sighed, then nodded. The two parted in opposite directions, one towards the counter, one towards who knew where. Keith stopped before the worker woman and leaned forward with his forearms crossed on the glass display case. It took a showy cough to gain her attention. With an irritated eye, the woman put down her paper and asked in a scruffy southern accent, "May I help you?"

"Matches, please." Keith looked everywhere but the woman's fading eyes.

With a deep exhale through her nostrils and a finger pushed against her temple, the woman hoisted herself up and scuffled down the long counter. She got a few feet when she bent down and opened a drawer. When she appeared standing again, she held a match box in her hand and a bored expression on her face. "Anything else, sir?" She tossed the matchbox, which skidded across the countertop to Keith.

"Not at the moment."

A crash sounded from across the store. Keith snapped his head back and the worker woman glanced in that general direction with disinterest. "Can you tell your little boyfriend to stop trashing the store. I know it's weird, but I kinda wanna keep this job."

Keith nodded, narrowing his eyes at Nico. The crash had come from the metal trash can he had emptied in one of the isles — the action, in reaction, knocked over a shelf of candy. Though Keith's attention was drawn to him, Nico didn't seem to notice or care.

Nico met Keith by the counter, gasoline container and trash can in tow. "We need four more of these." Nico declared, pointing at the metal cylinder.

"I would ask why, but I'm honestly too high to give a fuck." The worker woman answered. "Check the back by the dumpster. The boss has a real eye for them rust buckets."

Nico wordlessly turned and exited with his supplies. Keith watched the door slam open and closed, the bell ringing like crazy. Keith then turned back to the woman, rubbing the back of his neck. "How much?"

"Pshh. I don't know. Not everyday folks come around and snatch our bins of garbage.” The woman took a pack from the back wall and shook out a single cigarette. She lit it with a lighter from her work apron, not bothering the cover the stream of smoke. "I'll take them gloves you got on, and we'll call it even for that." With a nod, she motioned to the mess at the end of the store.

Keith spared one look over his shoulder, then to his gloves. "Why do you want these?"

The woman gave a one shoulder shrug. "I've always been a fan of biker fashion."

"Can you take anything else, like... money?"

"Y'all'd've thought about that before you came in, fists blazin'" The woman blew out a cloud of smoke, which dispersed spastically into the air. Keith had to fight not to cover his nose from the dreadful smell.

Keith turned his palms up, then balled his hands into white knuckled fists. He couldn't remember a day in which he went without his gloves. They helped him through so much. When he worked alone, struggling day by day to keep afoot. When he lived with his grandma, the one that he despised yet loved so deeply. When he kissed Lance for the first time and held his hand. Under any other circumstances, Keith would've answered with a definite no. But, now, it didn't matter. Though he loved his gloves, they were mere accessories: so easily replaced. Lance wasn't like that. He wasn't some store made shirt that could mend with a needle and string. He was one of a kind.

"Sure." Keith finally peeled his dazed eyes from the gloves and tore them off. When he handed them over, he noticed a pale — paler — tan line between his fingers and palms.

The woman took them, put them on, and brought them to her cigarette. With another puff, she said, "I like the feel of them. Thanks."

Keith nodded, shoved the matches in his coat pocket, and turned on the balls of his feet. Pushing the sinking feeling aside, he left the store with a hung head. Once out, he saw Nico, gasoline in hand and five rusty, metal trash cans in a circle around him. When Nico spotted Keith, his lip twitched. "Help me get these into the car." He instructed.

Keith went to his Honda, opened the trunk, and seriously doubted the possibility of being able to fit all the junk Nico wanted into it.

Nico hoisted the first empty container up and inched his way to the car. He threw it - rather forcefully - into the once empty trunk and went to get another. Keith copied him and, being much stronger than Nico, got most of the work complete. With three garbage cans side by side in the trunk and two in the second row, the pair was finally ready to go. Keith hopped into the drivers side, heart pounding, and Nico in the passenger side, gasoline can neatly laid atop his lap. "Left at the next turn." He instructed as Keith pulled back onto the road.

The first half of the trip was silent. Nico had what he wanted, and Keith knew where he was going. But eventually, Keith couldn't take it any longer. "Why are we going to the beach?" He repeated, more as a demand than a question.

"I seriously regret helping you." Nico mumbled, hugging the gas tank tight against his chest. Keith waited as Nico shifted uncomfortably in his seat, only to answer with, "He needs a place with memory attached to it. A lot of memory. A whole lot of good memory. The house won't due, no. First, I don't want to burn the place down. Second, there's too many people. Third, too many bad emotions attached to the place. You'd both die. The beach is an open area, uncrowded, — because it's a trash beach — and happy emotions. A lot of happy emotions. Here, there, everywhere. We need to summon him, not repel him. That's why you're going to be the bait."

"Bait?"

"Shh, shh, shh, shhhhhh. I answered one of your oh-so prevalent queries. You are never satisfied, are you, wonder eyes?"

"I suppose not." Keith said truthfully and continued down the road with nothing but his thoughts, bare hand grasped to the steering wheel.

It took them a bit, but eventually they arrived at the beach. When the car winded down to a halt, Keith felt his heart ping in his chest. This was it. This was really happening. The sun was gone, the moon replacing it in the sky. Like always, all but a few stars dotted the landscape above, but were unable to be seen due to the thick, gray clouds. It looked as though the saddened sky was seconds away from becoming a downpour, and Keith prayed the bad weather wasn't enough to thwart Nico's little scheme.

Nico jumped out - remembering how to open the door from last time - and went immediately to the trunk. He hauled it open as Keith turned off the ignition and went to help unpack the trash cans. "I've got it." Nico protested as Keith reached for the nearest one. "This requires precision. No offense, but you don't come off as the precise type, morsel."

Keith backed up to let him work. With much difficulty, Nico dragged the materials to the sand and laid them where his unknowable mind had mapped. Luckily, no one was there to witness their shenanigans. The beach was always empty, especially at this hour. Well, besides when the McClains make their visit.

Nico arranged the cans in a sort of pentagon. When he was finished, he took a stick from the beach and drew a curved line between each one of them, forming a circle. He then proceeded to draw a star with each of the trash cans as a point. Keith sighed. But of course it was a pentagram. Can't have a ritual without demonic shit.

"Gather sticks." Nico instructed. "Dry sticks. Put them in a pile over here so you won't ruin anything."

Keith nodded and disappeared into the grass. There was a limited number of trees, but eventually he came back with an armful of twigs and sticks from below a great oak. Dropping them where Nico told him to, he backed up and watched Nico work his magic. He divided the sticks equally in each trashcan and grumbled when he didn't have enough. He sent Keith back for more, and, when not satisfied by the second batch, sent him a third time to gather sticks. After about eight runs or so, Nico finally finished filling the cans to his desired height. With that, he fetched the gasoline.

Nico poured a puddle of gasoline atop the sticks and held his palm up, prompting Keith foreword.

"What do you need me for?"

"Matches." Nico snarled as though it were obvious.

Keith tensed, remembering then, the weight in his coat pocket. He dug his bare hand into his coat and pulled them out. Nico took the box of matches, struck the first stick with a flick of his wrist, and threw it into the trash. The two shuffled back just in time to avoid the first flame, which shot into the air like an angry beast. Keith’s skin was hot and eyes burned from the flame's strange, orange light. It started out strong, then gradually decreased in size until it was but stirring.

"Get in the center." Nico instructed. "This is strength." He motioned to the fire.

As Keith did as he was told, Nico poured another layer of gasoline into the next trashcan and struck a second match. "This is weakness." He set it ablaze, and the flame seemed to stay bigger for longer.

He went to the remaining three and repeated the pattern. "This is vengeance. This is pity." He stopped at the last one. "This is love." The flame lit his features a red fury. Keith couldn't help but shiver.

"Now." Nico tossed his supplies behind him. They landed inches from the reseeding shoreline. "Now you must clear your mind. Think of nothing. Not everything, not a few things, not one thing. Nothing."

Keith took a breath in and closed his eyes. He tried to think of nothing, but it was impossible. The moments he wasn't sorting through questions, pushing back the fear, or seeing the face of the most precious one in his life, he was thinking about not thinking. The strain of his brain, or the distinct sounds of his organs working together, keeping him alive and standing.

"Clear your mind." Nico repeated, his voice a distant whisper.

Keith thought of his breathing and suddenly found it hard to continue. It was supposed to be an automatic thing, but his lungs seemed to shrink if he didn't inhale and exhale manually. "I can't do this. I - I..." Keith noticed the warmth on his cheeks. The fire. He recognized the sweat sliding from his forehead to his mouth. A salty taste. "No one can turn off their mind."

"Then, think of him."

Keith felt his pulse pound at his temples. Him. Yes, he could do that. He focused on Lance's features. The unparalleled smile that blew Keith away. The brashness of his words mixed with the softness of his heart. His dreams in life. Kaltenecker's cage, and his big ambition to free her and the ones like her.

Keith believed he had succeeded, when his thoughts abruptly jerked to his grandma. Not knowing why, he played back the memory of their walk in the park. Mrs. Kogane tripping, and the younger version of Keith touching her cold skin and testing the pulse on her wrist, only to find there was none left to feel.

Keith shook his head, smacking a violent palm against his forehead. He didn't want to think of her. He promised himself never again.

Keith saw his mother and father. At first, he didn't recognize their faces. He didn't have any past conceived memory of their looks, but somehow, someway, Keith knew one thing for certain. These people, they gave birth to him. And then his mother left and his father died.

Keith clutched his hands around his arms. Nico's voice came from a different spot than before, yet he couldn't seem to pinpoint the direction. "I said think of him. What are you doing?"

"I'm trying!"

"Try harder!"

Keith let go of his arms with an exhale. His kisses. Keith brushed his finger against his bottom lip, recalling the distinct taste of Lance and the weight of his kisses. They were such a strange, fleeting thing. A sensation like no other.

"I want to kiss you now." Keith whispered, barely audible to even himself. "I didn't know when it started, but I know it hasn't yet ended. I don't believe in true love. I don't believe in fate. But what I know for curtain is that I want to save you. No matter what, because you are important to me. Whether it be enemies, friends, or lovers, I want you to live on. Because my heart is certain. I love you."

That moment, Keith felt a waft of coolness, opened his eyes, and was greeted by a familiar face. The face of love. Wide eyes, and quivering palms, Lance asked, "Keith? Are you Keith?"

Keith took Lance's chin, turned it from right to left, then pulled him in for a hug. The two sunk to their knees, grasping desperately at each other all the while.

Nico began chanting. Keith wasn't familiar with language, but he was fairly certain the chanting was Latin with a mix of English, though he couldn't care less. He dug his fingers into Lance's back, hard enough to bruise his skin.

"What's happening?” Lance demanded, hands tight around Keith's forearms.

Keith said nothing, listening to his own hot breaths. Lance was so warm, even on such a cold night.

"What's going on?" Lance tried again, pushing back from Keith.

Keith didn't want to let go of Lance, but he did. Averting his eyes to the ground, he began counting the grains of sand that dirtied his shoes.

"Tell me what's going on." Lance cupped Keith's cheeks and pulled his head up until they were looking eye to eye. "Please, Keith. Tell me what this is, where this is, and who I am. I - I don't remember. I can't remember anything."

"That doesn't matter. You're here where you're meant to be, and you're going to see your family, friends, and everyone soon."

"I don't understand." Lance shook Keith's head. "I don't understand any of this."

"Me neither." Keith admitted.

"No, you don't understand. Nothing. I understand nothing. W - who am I? It's at the tip of my tongue."

Keith felt a drop of water fall from above and land on his cheek. It felt cool against his skin. Keith was glad he got to experience rain at least one last time. He tilted his head to the side, letting Lance's palm hold it upright. "It will all be clear soon, Lance. You're going to be alive."

"But what's going to happen to you?"

"That doesn't matter."

"Yes it does!" Lance let go of Keith's face and opted to pull him closer via coat collar. Their eyes mere centimeters apart, Lance raised his voice. "What's going to happen?"

Keith's mind wavered. He focused on Lance's moving lips, but his ears didn't hear a word. More specifically, he couldn't hear anything. Yet, he knew what he was trying to communicate. It wasn't so much of a sense, but an automatic thing. A second nature. "I'll be free." He spoke, taking Lance's wrists as his body hoisted into the air by Lance's furious grip. He could feel himself slipping away. A lost soul parting from its body, making way for anew.

"You're all I remember!" Lance cried. "How can you not get that? If you go, I'll have nothing left. Y - you have to stay. I can't lose you." He let go of Keith's collar, sending him stumbling to the ground.

Before he could land, Keith caught himself with his last remaining strength. He heard Nico's chant but not in his ears. Lance was becoming part of his body, pushing him out, yet he was still here in front of Keith. "You can't keep me, but, please, keep this feeling."

With that, Keith kissed Lance. He held onto him, knowing he wouldn't again, and Lance kissed him back, not knowing anything but this. The rain picked up, stinging Keith's skin with its speed and soaking his clothes which clung to him.

They parted to breath, and Keith took the opportunity to speak before he went away for good. Feeling the wind howl and vision blur with darkness or light, he said, "Please, remember this. Memories can go. Feeling are forever. Know when I kiss you, that you're loved."

They kissed again, tears, or rain, or both streaking their cheeks. Keith felt his pulse in his knuckles as he dug his fingers into Lance's neck, then slowly, gradually, lost the sensation — lost all sensations.

Before he knew it, the fire was extinguished and the chanting ceased. The rain continued as him — or was it Lance — looked up to the bleak, gray night. Keith was still here, but he was gone. And Lance was gone, but he was still here.

And, at that moment, the person who stood in the center of the circle realized he didn't know anything. Not his name, not his purpose. All he had was a feeling. A powerful feeling, though he wasn't sure what it was. It overwhelmed and consumed him, leaving nothing to do but cry, cry, and cry until he was no longer able.

Then he heard something. Not words, nor a voice, but music. The tune hummed, putting the man at ease. And, when it finished, the man had an epiphany.

Lance. His name... was Lance.

***

**_(A/N): WARNING! Brief mention of suicide. If you're sensitive to this topic, please don't read this part any further!_ **

***

"Wanna hear a really cool story?" Nathan's smug expression seeped from behind his goggle-like glasses.

Vtas flopped back in his bed. The mattress felt like a cloud attempting to suffocate him. "I don't know. Something — call it a gut feeling — tells me I don't want to know what your twisted mind finds 'cool'."

"I'm taking that as a yes." Nathan twirled on Vtas' swivel chair. It was astonishing. Whenever he came over, his butt seemed to melt into the seat. Not that Nathan minded. Vtas wouldn't be surprised if Nathan fantasized about becoming one with the swivel.

"Once upon a time, there was a death."

"Of course there was. Because we can't have a pleasant Nathan story without a signature Nathan death." Vtas eyed his ceiling where cardboard sea life hung from strings; the ones he made when he was in first grade. He really needed to take those down. He was fifteen, after all. Far too old for silly, first grade decorations.

"But the death wasn't the interesting part." Nathan's voice shifted into his classic storytelling tone, aka: when his naturally squeaky voice gets uncharacteristically deep. The sudden change was enough to send a shiver down Vtas' spine. Nathan continued, "It's how his friends and family starting acting afterward. They all claimed that they had been with the dead guy weeks after his funeral. They even went to the beach with him apparently. Crazy stuff, right?"

"Yeah, sure. Real scary. Can you tell me why you decided to share this information now?"

"Wait, crabby butt. I'm not done yet. Many weeks after the funeral, one of the friends came back from disappearing, claiming to be the dead man himself. Apparently he was moving in unnatural ways, always crying, screaming, and bleeding black blood."

"Ew." Was all Vtas had to say. He felt weirdly unnerved by the tale.

"Ew indeed. But that's not the worst part. On February 13, three days after reappearing, the guy killed himself. Crazy, huh? That's also the day you were born! Isn't that coincidental?"

Vtas stood and stomped to where Nathan sat. Not knowing why, he punched his friend in the arm. "Don't tell me this shit. I don't want to hear it."

Nathan reeled. "Hey! That hurt! No need to be all up in arms about it! Why do you care so much anyway?"

Vtas sat back on his bed in a huff. "I don't like hearing sad stories. Especially not ones about... about that."

"What? Suicide?"

"Don't make me throw you out the window!" Vtas hissed.

"Jeez. Sorry. I was only telling you because of the two tickets I got us."

Vtas perked up. "What kinda' tickets?"

"It's a sick ass band that my friend from outta school is apart of. Its whole premise is based off this story. They're called, Lance's Funeral."

"That's a dumb name." Vtas muttered. "Lance, the one who died and started the whole ‘demonic charade’?"

"How'd ya know? My first guess was that Lance was the guy who committed... passed on after his friend's tragic demise."

Vtas rolled his eyes, though his interest was peaked.

"The lead singer is our age. His real name is Roman, but he goes by the stage name of Keith; the one who... well, you know." Nathan did another twirl in his chair, his white-toothed grin brightening the dim atmosphere of Vtas' room.

"Just Keith?" Vtas asked.

"Just Keith." Nathan replied.

"That's a dumb stage name." Vtas said.

"Won't deny that one." Nathan agreed. "Heard he was hot though, not that I would know."

Vtas sneered. He hated when Nathan tried to set him up with someone. Some people just like being single. Or, perhaps, some people are just waiting for the right one to come around. In any case, Vtas didn't know what he wanted, nor did he like Nathan scooching his nonexistent love life along. "Not going to happen."

"Aw, come on. If not for him, go for the music. It'll be fuuunnn!" Nathan leaned forward in his chair.

Vtas eyed Nathan then the floor. He felt a peculiar draw to the idea of the concert, though he wasn't traditionally the music fanatic. In actuality, Vtas knew a crumbs worth about music in general. Strings strum and horns toot. What else was there?

"Fine." Vtas finally gave in. Nathan gleamed.

***

The concert was on a Friday after school. Vtas' heart pinged in his chest as they walked down the bad part of town. Avoiding eye contact with the strangers around him, Vtas stayed close to Nathan as they made their way to a bar sandwiched between an ice cream and vape shop. When they entered, a cheery looking middle age man marked their palms with sharpie after taking the tickets Nathan pulled from his man purse.

"I don't feel good, Nathan." Vtas whisper-screamed over the rowdy teenagers within. "I'm going to throw up."

"Well, don't do it on me!" Nathan took a step away.

Vtas could barely make out his friend’s form in the blackness. There were only screams and chaos, nothing more. Vtas hated it.

His body was nothing but a husk, mind a complex circuit going haywire. That's when he heard the guitar blast to life. No, felt it rather, in his heart as it came from the speakers. Him and the music were synchronized, its functions acting with the rhythm.

The lights turned on.

The stage was basked in a red light.

He was there. Keith. He was there.

"‘Fumbling his confidence and wondering why the world has passed him by’." He sang, red guitar hanging from a strap around his shoulder. His hair was dyed white. Why did Vtas find it so odd?

"‘Hoping that he's bent for more than arguments and failed attempts to fly, fl’ -"

White light swelled across the audience. Roman and Vtas' eyes met. He stopped singing. The drummer and bass both stopped. The audience died down, confusion in a wave across the bar.

For a brief moment, everything around Vtas was pitch black. The only light came from behind his and Roman's chests. Roman, red. Vtas, blue. Two souls reuniting, covering the world in purple. It was Vtas, Roman, and everything else.

Vtas touched his lips. He felt a weight on it.

Memories go. Feelings stay.

Roman touched his lips, pulling a shaky hand through his short, straight hair. He wore fingerless gloves. Why did Vtas find this amusing?

Memories go. Feelings remain. Always.

Vtas wasn't aware he had spoken. He wasn't aware of anything, really. Just one thing. One thing he didn't quite understand. Something that was gone from him, something that he missed very much, had returned. "I've found you." He whispered.

Then he smiled. Then Roman smiled. Then the world smiled a sad, happy smile.

"I've found you."

The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my crazy little story. It was such a blast — as to say, it was hella stressful (•_•). It was all worth it in the end though! I hope you enjoyed this tale of life and death, love and lies, as well as happy times and sad times. Have a good day and a good life! And, if you’re interested, check out my other Klance fic, Our Strange Differences! It’s less edgy and sad, with a good, happy ending! Lol


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